Courtship
by TotallyNonchalantFBI
Summary: Ben Davidson left his family behind when he started his life, but his family kept living. His two youngest sisters, Margaret and Mary, learn to truly love as they grow up with friends, family, and always the hope that Ben will return to them one day.
1. Bloom

**Hey there, loves! Glad to be back :] So I'm writing this with one of my friends, so I can make no promises about updates. This is set in the same time period as Benicity, and the people are Ben's family. Yeah, sure, why not? Well I am writing this with Angela [no more information than that!] And we will be alternating chapters. Apparently she is bad at starting stories, and I'm relatively good at doing that, so I'll be doing the odd chapters and she'll being the even. So this chapter, Bloom, is going to be a TotallyNonchalantFBI chapter. Enjoy, loves! And please, please review! Nothing will make me happier [ well, maybe a puppy…but still, you can't send me a puppy, now can you? So please, pretty please with sugar on top, please REVIEW!]**

Margaret Davidson was sixteen years old and in full bloom. She had grown to be about five and a half feet, with curly blond hair and big brown eyes that could make you melt. She was of average size, with small feet and a small waist. She had rosy pink lips and a smile that lit up the room. Though she dressed well, she had no patience for fashion. She enjoyed the arts, singing and dancing, and reading whatever books she could get her hands on.

But if you asked her father about her, all he would say was that it was damn near time for her to get married. But his daughter paid him no heed.

All dinner conversations went about the same way.

"_Margaret" father would ask, putting down his silverware. "Have you given any thought to who you shall marry?"_

"_Father!" Margaret would protest. "I'm not even courting! However, I've almost finished my original song! It's coming along quite swimming, actually…"_

After that, Father would interrupt her and talk about his endeavors of the day, and Margaret would finish her meal in silence.

The next morning was Saturday, which was the formal baking day of the week.

"Oh no!" Mother put her hands on her hips and frowned.

" Whatever is wrong, mother?" Margaret asked.

"We're all out of flour, and on baking day of all days! Do me a favor, and run down to the shop, and pick up a pound of flour." Mother placed a coin in Margaret's hand. "Now go, go, before the ovens get too hot!"

Margaret turned to go, but her mother interrupted. "Wait! Do take your sister with you, I don't want you in town alone!"

"Mother!" Margaret protested.

"No whining!" Mother snapped.

"May I please take Charlotte?" Margaret asked. "I'll have company, and she's a bit more fun to be with…"

"Don't say that about your sister!" Mother snapped. "Now if you promise to be nicer to your sister, you may go into town with Charlotte."

Smiling, Margaret uttered a quick "Thank you!" and ran off.

"Wait! Don't forget your hat!" Mother shouted. "Never mind…"

Margaret ran a few houses down, to a green painted house with white trim. It was not an impressive home, but it housed her best friend. Margaret rapped on the door quickly and bounced up and down.

Charlotte answered the door. "Oh good! I was just about to go into town!"

Charlotte had long blond hair that barely dusted her ribcage. It was golden blond, with hints of red. It flowed in soft waves, and curled at the ends. She had bright green eyes that always seemed to have a hint of mischief in them, and they were framed with dark lashes. She had bright pink lips, and perfect white teeth. She was a little taller than Margaret, but not by much. That height did not help her grace, however, for she was far less graceful and tended to stumble often. She didn't mind though, for while it was frowned upon by other girls, so were most of the other things she did: such as running and refusing to ride horses sidesaddle.

The two girls had been inseparable since birth, and their free spirits made them a perfect match. Charlotte hopped down the steps, two at a time, and met Margaret at the bottom.

"What do you have to get from town?" Margaret asked.

"A beau." Charlotte smiled. "I'm sixteen! It's time."

"Don't tell me you're ready to get married too! What is happening to the world?" Margaret wailed.

"Hold up, hold up. I said a beau, not a fiancé." Charlotte smirked.

"I knew there was a reason why we were friends." Margaret laughed.

"Now where are you going?" Charlotte asked.

"The Merchant's shop. I need a pound of flour."

The two girls walked down the street and up the stairs to the merchants shop. When they pushed open the door, a little bell rang, and a light went off in Margaret's head. Standing there, stacking dishes, was a handsome young man.

"Who's he?" Margaret whispered, nudging her friend.

"Oh, has someone caught your eye?" Charlotte laughed. "Oh him? Alexander Hawthorne. He's the apprentice.

Margaret bit her lip and tilted her head, having her curls spilling onto her shoulder. Alexander had deep brown hair, almost black, but not quite. The sun had probably lightened it. He had big blue eyes, which really popped against his deeply tanned skin. While manual labor had given him tan skin, it had also given him impressive muscles. While Margaret could only seem his extraordinary arm muscles, she suspected strong abs as well. Her heart seemed to plunge into her stomach.

"Go talk to him!" Charlotte pushed her forward.

Margaret spluttered a while, but finally approached him.

"Do you need help finding something?" Alexander looked at her, and Margaret was sure her knees were turning to pudding. He had such pretty eyes…

"Uh, uh…" Margaret stood there, mouth open, while mentally cursing herself.

Charlotte saved her. "She'd like to know if you have any flour."

Alexander didn't stop looking at Margaret. "Here, let me get some for you."

He walked behind the counter, and filled a bag with flour. Margaret paid him, but he didn't go away. "I've just become an apprentice here, but I think I would have remembered you. You knew here?" he asked Margaret.

"Um, no. I just haven't, uh, come here for a while." Margaret spluttered.

"Well you should come back tomorrow." He smiled. "May I at least have your name?"

"Margaret." She responded, smiling. "Margaret Davidson."

He flicked his hat and smiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Davidson."

The next day, Margaret was determined to go back. First thing in the morning, she tore down the stairs. She entered the kitchen, rummaging through the spices in order to find one that needed replacing! To no avail, alas.

Eventually, she found some ginger that was _almost_ empty, and _could_ need replacing. So she dumped it out the window.

"Mother!" she yelled. "We have no ginger, I shall go buy some!"

"Good heavens child!" Mother murmured, walking in. "No need to shout. 'Tis unladylike. Besides, I am right here. I do believe I got some ginger last week! Wherever has it gone?"

"No idea." Margaret said. "Now I must be off!"

Margaret skipped out the door and over to her best friend's house. While she could not wait Alexander, she needed Charlotte in case she got herself into an awkward situation!

Charlotte, like any close friend, seemed to already know her plan and was walking out of her house when Margaret came up.

"Going to flirt?" Charlotte smiled.

"Aye!" Margaret smiled. "Charlotte, I think he might like me!"

"Oh Margaret!" Charlotte laughed. "I was standing there, watching the both of you. He's practically smitten!"

Margaret, in eagerness to reach the shop, took Charlotte's hand and sprinted off with her. The two girls stopped at the doorway. Charlotte fixed Margaret's hair, for it had come a bit undone during the sprinting, and pinched her cheeks for some color.

"Do I look okay?" Margaret asked.

"You look beautiful!" Charlotte smiled. "Now go win him over!"

As soon as Margaret opened the door, Alexander was there. "You're back!"

"Aye!" Margaret smiled. "We, er, ran out of ginger."

"You're cute." Alexander smiled, knowing that they obviously did not run out of ginger.

The two went into the back storeroom, for business was especially slow today, and just talked. About friends, family, childhood, nearly everything! Charlotte had long head home, and Margaret didn't seem to realize that she should too. The sun was setting, but she didn't even notice!

"…yes!" Margaret exclaimed, causing Alexander to laugh. "Of all people, my sister, Mary, my _sister_ thought she was having a surprise party! She opened the door and yelled 'oh you shouldn't have!'. And there was only Mother, sitting in her chair knitting, with the most peculiar look on her face! And I was on the couch, practically ready to pop my corset from laughing to hard! It was as if she did not expect me to play such tricks on her! And after all these years!

After Alexander calmed down from the laughter, he looked out the storeroom window. "Oh, Lord. You came in here about noon, did you not?"

"Yes, a little before actually." Margaret responded.

"Well the sun is setting!" Alexander exclaimed. "Margaret, you've been here for about seven hours!"

"Oh my God!" Margaret exclaimed, leaping up. "Oh, my parents are going to be so mad! They'll kill me!"

"Here, you shouldn't be walking home in the dark. I'll escort you. Where do you live?" Alexander said, rather calmly for the situation.

"117 Baker Street." Margaret sighed. "They're going to be so mad…"

"Just tell them you were talking, and lost track of time." Alexander mentioned.

"Who loses track of time for seven hours?" Margaret scowled.

"You're being too hard on yourself." Alexander offered his arm and the two headed home.

Alexander walked her home. Margaret's heart was fluttering due to any physical contact with him, but her brain was spinning, and that occupied her attention.

Eventually, they reached the door. Alexander paused for a moment and bit his lip. "I know, we haven't known each other for a long time, but I like you Margaret. And this may seem….forward. Hell, it is forward. But may I…may I kiss you?"

Every thought drained out of Margaret's head. Did he just say what she thought he said? Yes, she answered herself. He did! He liked her, he wanted to kiss her! Yes, she wanted him to kiss her. Without saying anything, or waiting for him to say anything else, Margaret leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Alexander grabbed her face and kissed her back. Eventually, the two broke apart.

"You best get inside, your parents are worried enough as it is." Alexander smiled, but still cradled her face in his hands.

Margaret smiled, pecked his lips again, muttered a goodnight, and went inside.

"Well Margaret." As soon as Margaret entered the door, she faced her family, sitting in the parlor, adjacent to the door. Her mother spoke first. "We've been waiting for quite some time. We have many questions, but one very important one first. Where is the ginger?"

Margaret shrunk back. "I forgot it."

"Okay then," her father continued. "Another question then. Why did it take you seven and a half hours to run a simple errand, and then fail to even complete that errand. What on earth were you doing? We were worried sick!"

"I'm sorry Father!" Margaret said, and took a step towards him. "I was talking with a…with a friend. I just lost track of time!"

"Margaret, you need to be more mindful! Who knows what trouble you could have gotten yourself into? And walking home in the dark? Egad!" Mother said, fanning herself.

"I'm so sorry Mother! It won't happen again!" Margaret promised, clasping her hands together.

"Good." Mother stated, putting her fan down and picking up her stitching, signaling that the conversation was now over. "We have a surprise for you. Go upstairs and wash your face. Fix your hair. And change into your best gown!"

"Mother, my best gown? Whatever for? 'Tis nighttime!" Margaret questioned.

"If we told you what for, it would not be a surprise, now would it?" Mother said, voice still stern, but a smile playing at her lips.

Margaret bowed her head and went to do what she was told. Upstairs at her bedside, there was a little flower. A rose, to be more specific. She had been trying for what felt like forever to convince it to bloom. Looking over at it, she noticed that this morning, for the first time in weeks, it had spread it's petals to receive the sun's healthy rays. But then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly, almost as soon as she looked at it, the petals closed up. The sun had set a while ago, and it seemed to be strangest thing.

Paying it no more heed, Margaret went to change into her gown. It was the finest silk, imported from Paris! It was deep champagne, and its golden accents brought out the gold flakes in her eyes. The stomacher had twisted ribbons and pearls of red, champagne, and golden hues mixed throughout it. The champagne fabric gathered at her hips, and revealed a shining gold petticoat. Red lace trimmed the side and the sleeves. The neckline dipped deep into her bust, but covered most with lace. To draw attention further up, Margaret put on her pearl choker, which was her favorite necklace of them all. She pulled her curls out of their bun, and let them frame her heart-shaped face. She took off her mobcap and replaced it with a golden pinner. She put in her little pearl earrings, for this appeared to be a special occasion. She wore the same shoes that she had during the day, for they were hidden anyway, and the fancy ones pinched her toes ever so uncomfortably.

Pleased with her appearance, Margaret turned on the slight heel of her shoes and walked outside her room, blowing out the candle on the dresser. She navigated the hallway and stairs by feel, and did not trip. She walked through the living room, which had a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the kitchen which had the warm smell of cinnamon bread in the over. She entered the parlor again, to behold a strange sight.

There was a man. He was tall and skinny, he would look malnourished except for his large beer belly. He had a powdered wig that reached a good six inches above his head, and fell in tight powdered curls. His clothes were fancy and heavily embroidered, in hues of pinks, blues, and greens. It looked like the eggs she used to dye for Easter! His breeches were tight at the ends, showing the lumps in his socks, but puffy throughout, making his skinny ankles look even smaller.

"Mother, Father." Margaret said slowly, eyebrows raised, concern flooding her voice. "What exactly is this surprise?"

**VVVVVVVV Review! Review! VVVVVVVV**


	2. Life Comes When Least Wanted

**And I'm back :] This is another TotallyNonchalantFBI chapter! And you know, it's surprisingly hard to work two different plots at one time. Not sure what I mean? Of course you're not. Read on, and you will be, dear reader. Read on and later review. **

"Margaret, sit down." Mother gestured at the seat in front of her.

Margaret raised her eyebrows, not quite trusting what her mother was up to. Regardless, she walked over to the couch and sat down, smoothing her skirts underneath her.

"You're sixteen, Margaret." Her father began. "It's time for you to settle down, start a family. You have not yet begun courting, and your mother and I decided, when you were young, that if you were not courting by fifteen, we would set up a marriage for you. Now once that birthday came, your mother and I still saw you as our baby, still a little girl. And now that your sixteenth birthday has passed, we realize that by babying you we will do you no good. So we have set up, no, not just a courtship, but a marriage for you."

Margaret clamped a hand to her mouth. "Mother! Father! You couldn't have!"

Mistaking her horror for excitement, Father continued. "Yes, honey." He gestured to the man next to him. "Meet Mr. Iverson. Victor Iverson."

Margaret stood up. She was _marrying_ him? No, no surely this wasn't true! It must be a dream! Her mother followed her out. "Margaret!" she yelled. "Why on earth did you run out? We thought you we going to be happy!"

"Mother! How could you think this would make me happy! I don't want to marry him!" Margaret yelled.

"Hush girl! He's in the next room! You have not exactly given him the proper welcome!" Mother said.

"Mother, no! Send him away, send him away!"

"You don't understand. Mr. Iverson is the richest man in town! He can give you everything you would ever, ever need!" Mother said, leaning in. "Now go bid him goodnight. Head up to bed. You have a lot to think about." Mother grabbed her hands. "This is your future Margaret. This best future you could possibly have. Don't just let it go."

With that, Mother turned on her heel and walked out of the room. With a sigh, Margaret followed.

Margaret eventually fell into a restless sleep. Her head pressed hard into a goose - feather pillow, as she unconsciously bit her lip, turning over and over agitatedly on her mattress. She wished that the hot pan at her feet would spread farther up than her ankles: for the weather was unseasonably cool for spring. A chill ran through her, and Margaret sat up. She pulled her shift up off her shoulder, and tightened the ribbon, on the off chance that it would help. Her thick hair was pulled back in a bushy braid, and Margaret contemplated letting it down, maybe it would warm her up more…

But she didn't get a chance to let her hair down, for she heard a loud crash downstairs. She tensed up immediately. What if it was a thief? A murderer? A kidnapper? At first, Margaret was just going to try to hide in her wardrobe, but then she decided she had to investigate. She grabbed a candlestick, and lit it with a match from her bedside table drawer. She pulled on her robe and slipped on her slippers, for the house was even colder when she was not surrounded by blankets. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and headed downstairs.

After living in the house for sixteen years, Margaret knew every floorboard that squeaked, even in the dark. She was able to go down the stairs completely silently. She walked into the living room, blowing out the candle to remain even stealthier. She crept into the room, and as her eyes adjusted, she realized that there was in fact someone in the house.

"BEN!" she yelled, waking the whole household. She ran up to him, jumping up onto him and wrapping him in a bear hug.

"It's too dark for me to see, but I'm thinking this must be Margaret." Ben laughed, spinning his little sister around.

"Whatever is going on here?" Mother asked, coming down the stairs, followed by Father.

"Ben's home! Ben's home!" Margaret screamed.

"Well now that the whole neighborhood knows," Mary griped. "Why don't you let go of Ben and let the rest of us greet him?"

Margaret laughed and jumped down, allowing Mary to hug Ben as well. Mother smiled and lit the candles all around the room, allowing everyone to be properly seen.

"And I'm not the only person you have to greet." Ben smiled. "I know because of Mary's illness," referring to Mary's brief battle with the fever, "you were not able to come to my wedding. Well my timing was a bit off, I thought we were going to be here yesterday, but I came to introduce you to Felicity Davidson." With that, Ben pulled a willowy redheaded girl next to him.

Everyone smiled and laughed and greeted Felicity. Mother commented, "Now I do hope you'll stay for a while!"

"I hope it's not rude," Felicity bit her lip. "But we were planning to. We brought our trunks and everything!"

"Oh how lovely!" Mother exclaimed. "This will give us time to catch up with Ben, and get to know his new wife! Now, Ben can sleep in the master bedroom, Margaret and Mary will sleep together in Mary's room, and Michael and I will sleep together in Margaret's room, so Felicity can have the guest room."

"Mother, there's no need for the shuffling! We never meant to cause discomfort for anyone!" Ben laughed. "Felicity and I can sleep together in the spare room!"

"Absolutely not!" Mother said, laying a hand on her heart.

"Why not? Mother we're married!" Ben said.

"Regardless, it still is improper!" Mary said.

"Your sister is right!" Mother said.

"Well what are you trying to prevent?" Felicity smiled. "I'm already pregnant!"

Everyone smiled and began to clap, shout with joy, clap Ben on the shoulder, and rub Felicity's stomach.

"How far along is she?" Father asked.

"Four months, the doctor says!" Ben said, putting an arm around Felicity's shoulders.

"Wait," Mother said, the smile dripping off her face. "How long have you two been married?"

The realization suddenly came to Ben's and Felicity's face at the same time. They never wanted their parents to know! Even the Merrimans thought Felicity was only three months along.

"Three months." Felicity mumbled, and she had so wanted to make a good impression!

"Fine." Mother said. "You two will both sleep in the guest room. Well, it's late. I am going to bed. As are you, Margaret and Mary. Ben, Felicity. You two are adults. You may do as you please."

Mother went upstairs, Father followed. Mary, still in a bit of shock, stood there, but then ran up the stairs. Margaret lingered in the room, biting her lip. She walked over to where Felicity stood, her red head looking down at the ground.

Margaret rested a hand on Felicity's stomach. "What are you hoping for?"

Felicity looked up. There were still tears in her eyes, but she smiled. "I don't care. I just want it healthy."

"Well you can't really go wrong. I'm sure you'll be a great mother either way." Margaret smiled, and gave Felicity a gentle hug.

"Thank you." Felicity said, wrapping her slender freckled arms around Margaret.

With that, Margaret smiled and ran up the stairs before she was missed. Ben smiled at his sister, wrapped an arm around Felicity's waist, and grabbed the smaller trunk under his arm. With that, he led his wife to the guest bedroom. He sat the trunk down at the foot of the bed and let Felicity go.

Felicity put her face in her hands. "I wanted them to like me!" she sniffed, still trying to hold back tears.

"They will! They will!" Ben assured her, sitting down and putting an arm around her. "It'll take a day, but once they see your personality, they'll love you!"

"Oh I don't know, your mother was just…horrified. And your father looked at me as if I was a whore." Felicity spat. "I'm not Ben!"

"No, no you're not!" Ben said, hugging her even closer. "Here, you haven't had an easy day. Go relax."

Felicity sighed and stood up, letting Ben's grip on her release. "You're right, you're right." Felicity opened the trunk and pulled out her shift. "I should probably go to bed." Felicity changed and rolled into bed.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Upstairs, a very different story was going on. Mrs. Davidson paced back and forth, muttering about the new addition to the family. "I thought Ben was going to bring home a _nice_ girl!"

Mr. Davidson propped himself up on the pillows. "Felicity seems like a nice girl. You'll get to know her better tomorrow."

"Oh no, it's not her personality I'm worried about." Mrs. Davidson gritted her teeth and stiffened up. "I'm worried about what _type_ of girl she is." She raised her eyebrows, hinting at something different.

"She's not, Carolyn!" Mr. Davidson sat straight up. "Not only does she not seem like that, at all, but Ben would never do that! We raised him better than that!"

"So?" Mrs. Davidson objected. "He gets lonely one night, heads out to the shipyards-"

"Stop it Carolyn!" Mr. Davidson snapped. "Ben didn't do that. He loves her. You can tell. They just made a mistake is all. Don't hold it against her, she's family now. You made her very upset. Now just calm down, come to bed."

Mrs. Davidson crossed her arms and rolled her eyes like a child, but climbed into bed.

"Remember, Carolyn." Mr. Davidson mumbled. "Forgive, and forget."

Mrs. Davison sighed. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Felicity woke earlier than she was used to on the plantation. Today was a blazingly hot day, especially for early May! Felicity couldn't stand the heat very well, and she decided that she wanted to be pleasant, so she also had to be comfortable. She grabbed a short icy blue dress, trimmed with white lace. It swung below her knees, and Felicity loved how the cool breeze would reach her legs, which it could never do when she had to wear the long dresses. She headed out of the room and into the kitchen to get a head start on breakfast. Good Lord, it was almost six!

As she entered the kitchen, she saw Mrs. Davidson already kneading dough for bread. "Oh, I see you slept in." she said. Felicity bit her lip. She thought she was up early! "Come now, can you knead bread?" At Felicity's nod, she continued. "Oh good. I thought I should make sure. Now come here- OH DEAR LORD!" Mrs. Davidson clutched a hand to her chest. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"One of my short dresses." Felicity mumbled. "It's quite hot out, and this helps."

"That's no excuse." Mrs. Davidson sniped. "I made it through three summers while pregnant, all well wearing a proper dress and petticoats. Now come knead the bread."

Cursing herself for screwing up – again! – Felicity walked over to the kitchen and began to knead the bread.

"So did Ben meet you at the shipyards?" Mrs. Davidson asked, with a seemingly innocent look on her face.

"What?" Felicity asked, looking up from the dough.

"When you two first met! Did he find you at the shipyards?"

"No." Felicity said darkly. "We were best friends! Ben taught me everything: how to fish, and run, and spit, and ride horses-"

"Good Lord!" Mrs. Davidson said, laying a hand on her heart. "Why on earth would you need to know those things?"

Felicity bit her lip. So she wanted to have fun! She didn't actually do anything wrong! Oh Mrs. Davidson was never going to give her a chance, was she? She sighed and went back to kneading the dough.

"Mornin'!" Ben walked into the room. He kissed his mother on the forehead and his wife on the lips.

"Good morning Ben! Breakfast will be ready soon." Mrs. Davidson smiled.

"Is Felicity making buns?" Ben smiled, looking at his wife.

Mrs. Davidson looked at Felicity's stomach. "Seems as if she's already got one in the oven."

"Can't wait!" Ben smiled. "Here, I'll go wake Margaret and Mary." With that, Ben hugged Felicity and left to go wake his sisters.

"Why don't you go set the table?" Mrs. Davidson said. "I can finish up the meal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes. Just go."

…

Ben walked upstairs and knocked on Margaret's door. Hearing no reply, he walked in.

"Ben!" Margaret exclaimed, wheeling around, hiding a candle behind her back.

"Why are you hiding the candle?" Ben asked.

"I'm not." Margaret lied.

"Margaret I know you're lying!" Ben smiled. "Now what are you doing?"

"I need a reason to go downtown – to the shop." Margaret spilled.

"Why?" Ben asked.

"There's someone there. Someone I owe an explanation to." Margaret said.

"Do you like someone?" Ben smiled, sitting down on Margaret's bed.

Margaret's chin started to wobble and she sunk down on the bed and burst into tears.

"Oh my God, Margaret, what's wrong?" Ben said, wrapping his arms around his sister.

In between sobs Margaret said. "I met this man…Alexander…and I wanted…to court him…but I can't…I can't!"

"Why not?" Ben asked. "Doesn't he like you back?"

"He…does…he kissed me…" Margaret continued to sob.

Ben rubbed her arm. "Then what's the problem?"

"I'm getting married!" Margaret wailed, burying her head in Ben's chest.

"What? What do you mean you're getting married?" Ben said.

"I have a marriage set up and he's just – just awful!" Margaret bawled.

Ben froze. He knew that although arranged marriages were common, he still thought they were wrong. He almost lost Felicity to an arranged marriage! He didn't want his sister to have to go through anything that awful. "I'll fix this. I have to go." With that, Ben stood up and silently walked out of the room.

Margaret sniffed and pulled her legs up next to her on the bed. Oh, how she missed Ben. He could fix anything.

Ben tromped down the stairs. He never thought his parents would do this! He turned the corner. "Father!"

Mr. Davidson turned around. "Ben! Whatever's wrong? You look upset."

"I heard what you did to Margaret. Father – how could you? By arranging a marriage for her, you've cut off any chance she could have had for finding love!" Ben yelled.

"Whatever is this yelling about?" Mother came rushing into the room, brushing flour off her hands and onto her apron. "I could hear you from the kitchen!"

"Ben, I did the right thing. She's sixteen! At her age, many women are already wives, already mothers! She wasn't looking for love, and it was time she got married before she lost her face!"

"Why does age matter? I was not married until I was 21!" Ben protested.

"Yes, but your wife is 16! Your age does not matter: you were busy with your apprenticeship!" Mother said.

"Yes, and I wanted to marry her ever since she turned 13! But I didn't want to rush her!" said Ben. "And when she was finally ready to settle down, guess what her parents did as well? They set up an ARRANGED MARRIAGE! It almost kept us from getting married! That's how I know Father, that's how I KNOW! Unless _Margaret wants_ an arranged marriage, you shouldn't set up one! You don't even know if she likes someone!" Ben took a deep breath to calm himself, and upon hearing no comments, continued. "An arranged marriage almost kept me from marrying Felicity."

Mrs. Davidson looked out the doorway and at Felicity. A dress swung around her knees, it was a bit longer in the back, for her baby bump hoisted it up in the front. Her hair flowed free from a bun, or even a mobcap. She wore socks, but no shoes. She stood in the hallway, looking at a portrait of the family. She was uncontrolled, unrestrained, wild, and most of all, _not_ a gentlewoman. Mrs. Davidson looked at Ben. "Well maybe it would have been better if it had."


	3. Knowlege is Fuel

**Well from now on, they will ALL be TotallyNonchalantFBI chapters. The friend I was writing this with…quit. It's a shame though, because we didn't even get a sample of her writing [ I've only seen her write plays, so this would even be my first sample of her actual writing]! She was supposed to write chapter two, and five days later she says she's too busy :[ So I kinda go into an "oh crap!" mode, 'cause my story hasn't been updated in five days! So I'm sorry about everything taking so long! XD Anyway, review please! **

Margaret stomped down the stairs the next morning. She imagined every wooden step as Iverson's face, and stomped extra hard on the last one, just to make a point.

"Margaret, stop with that fuss." Mother spun into the room, taking off her apron. "Breakfast is ready, go sit down."

Margaret walked into the dining room and sat down. She turned to Ben. "Where's Felicity?"

Ben leaned in. "She's making breakfast. I feel bad for her! Mothers being so awful to her, she's so tired."

"I don't know why, but mother doesn't seem to like her." Margaret sighed, sweeping her hair out of her face.

"I think it has something to do with the baby." Ben sighed. "I've heard their conversations."

"Do try to not spill breakfast on yourself Felicity, I see you've already got flour down your skirt!" Mother chided, a hint of a smile of her face. Felicity looked down and sighed, walking off.

"What's for breakfast, love?" Father asked.

"Oatmeal and Mary picked some fruit from the garden" Mother answered.

Felicity entered the room. She had changed from her pink gown into a green gown. It was silk and floral, and dusted the ground. The minty green material spread out, revealing her golden petticoat. Her hair was still in a bun from breakfast, but at least she wasn't covered in flour anymore.

"Oh look! You changed for breakfast!" Mother said. "You're quite lucky you even have all these dresses. When I was first married, I was much too busy trying to create the best life for my budding family to worry about having a stuffed wardrobe. But it's nice you still care."

Felicity gripped her fork extra hard, as if she was trying not to explode. Ben held her hand under the table. Felicity the jerked her hand away, and laid them both on her stomach, squinting her eyes. "I think the baby kicked." She whispered.

"Well tuck in, all!" Mother smiled, gesturing to the food in front of everyone.

Felicity began to eat: she felt nauseous last night and barely ate anything.

"Felicity!" Mrs. Davidson exclaimed. "How do you pack so much away? You may be eating for two, but the child does not require that much food! Do show some restraint!"

Felicity put down her spoon. "I've somewhat lost my appetite. I shall…go take a walk."

"That's fine dear. I _guess_ I shall do up all the breakfast dishes." Mrs. Davidson sneered.

"I'm not hungry either Mother!" Margaret piped up. "May I go over to Charlotte's?"

"Yes." Mother said. "We're having a late breakfast, they should be done by now. If they are not, however, come straight home. Do not be a hindrance."

Margaret agreed, but after being best friends with Charlotte for sixteen years, she was sure that she would not mind. Margaret rushed over to her friend's house. She had thought all last night, but if Ben was not able to fix this, could anyone? There may be one last hope: Charlotte. Whenever she was confused, Margaret always went to Charlotte's house. This time was no different. She ran up the stairs and knocked on her door.

"Margaret! Why the urgency?" Charlotte asked.

Charlotte looked especially pretty today. Her hair was pulled up in a plain bun, and she still refused to wear makeup, but she wore the most beautiful dress. It was deep purple, and it made a bright green eyes pop. There were gold accents in the stomacher, and gold and plum lace trimmed the hem of her dress and her sleeves.

"Why do you look so nice?" Margaret tilted her head.

"If you don't already know, I'm sure you'll find out when you get home". Charlotte laughed. "You seemed so urgent when you knocked, what's wrong?"

All the memories came flooding back. Margaret's eyes filled with tears.

"Margaret! What's wrong?" Charlotte pulled her best friend indoors and shut the door with her foot. Charlotte pulled her into the parlor and shut the door behind her. "Now tell me everything."

"I'm getting married!" Margaret wailed.

"Alexander proposed?" Charlotte squealed.

"No! That's just the point!" Margaret said. "My parents arranged the whole thing. I met him last night."

"What made him awful?" Charlotte asked.

"Well for one thing, he dressed like the Easter egg from _hell_. I talked to him for maybe half an hour, before Mother and Father would let me go to bed. He only talked about himself, and his fortunes."

"Why on earth would your parents set that up for you?" Charlotte asked, crinkling her nose.

"They feel that it's a smart match. He's the richest man in town! We've seen his manor." Margaret said.

"The overly elaborate one with all the columns and the huge yard with the fountain?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes, yes! He's holds the gambling parties with all the other rich men – I suppose it's just another way for him to show off his riches: by how much he can gamble away, and still keep his status." Margaret spat.

"Can you ask your parents to get you out of it?" Charlotte asked, laying her hands on top of Margaret's.

"No, no!" Margaret dipped her head. "Ben already tried to talk to them. They – they just refuse! It's like they don't care!"

Charlotte stiffened. "Did they not know of Alexander?"

Margaret clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my goodness! Alexander!" tears sprung to her eyes. "What do I do? I don't want to hurt him!"

"It's okay, it's okay!" Charlotte soothed her. "Here, you need to… um, you need to…"

"Come on Charlotte!" Margaret begged. "You always think of the best plans! You've never been wrong, you've never been out of ideas, I plead you, do not fail me now!"

"I know what to do!" Charlotte announced, sitting up a little straighter. "You just need to explain things to him. You need to go to the store and just tell him: lay it all out on the table. It won't be easy to say, but things could get much worse if you don't tell him. If you don't tell him, he will find out, once this awful arrangement becomes the talk of the town! He'll be hurt, and _that's_ when it's too late. Not now. You need to go, before it's too late – go! Now!"

"Oh no, Charlotte I couldn't!" Margaret said, shaking her head. "My tongue could never form those words, they'd hurt him so! I just couldn't!"

"You have to." Charlotte looked Margaret dead in the eyes and grabbed her hands. "'It's the only way! Just tell him. I know it will be hard, but it must be done."

Margaret looked down and nodded, the idea finally piercing through her brain. "I'll go now." Margaret stood up and smoothed her skirts. Like a criminal walking to the noose, she exited through the heavy wooden doors of the home, and out into the dusty roads.

She pushed her hair back and pinched her cheeks for color. _No I shouldn't do this. _She thought, _why am I primping for what will be the worst moment of my life? Other than marrying that awful man, of course. Oh Alexander. I'll never love any but you._

Before she knew it, she entered the shop. She looked up, and saw Alexander jumping off the stepladder and racing towards her.

"Alexander, I _need_ to talk to you." Margaret said.

"Can it wait? I have something I really want to say to you." Alexander smiled. Margaret didn't resist, so he pulled her out of the back door of the shop.

"No, Alexander, I _really_ have to-"

"Margaret, please." Alexander said. Sighing, Margaret let him talk. Alexander took a breath to steady himself. "I want to court you Margaret. I see no reason to dress this up into an overly formal occasion, love isn't a formal occasion. It's just a part of you, it just _fills_ you, you know? And I can't put it into any simpler terms than that. I love you Margaret, I can't – I can't stop thinking about you. So, upon your approval, I'm going to go talk to your father after my day is over. I'll formally ask him, and we can court Margaret. I'll marry you. I _love_ you. I love you so much that those three words, used so much, they just aren't enough. I'll say it a thousand times, until you have no doubt. I want to court you Margaret, make the first step. So, what do you say?" He shifted his weight between feet, but never broke eye contact with Margaret. He meant everything he said, he really, truly meant it!

Margaret's eyes filled with tears. How could she possibly, ever say she was already engaged, when he had just said _that_?

Upon hearing no verbal reply, Alexander said, "So…what do you think? Can I ask your father?"

Tears streamed down Margaret's eyes, she wanted to court him! She really did! She would marry him, raise a family, she wanted to share her life with him! Before she even really knew what she was doing, she started to nod, slowly at first, then quite vigorously.

"Wonderful!" Alexander said, all worry from possibly rejection evaporated from his face, and was replaced by absolute joy, the only level of happiness that can come from having the wish you wanted the most, granted. He leaned down close to her and kissed her, he broke away, but hovered near her face. "I'll talk to your father, right after I'm done here. I promise." He stood up straight again. "Now, is there something you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked her, smiling at her still.

"Not anymore." Margaret whispered, her heart plummeting into her stomach again. With that, she smiled at Alexander, hoping he wouldn't notice anything was wrong, and turned to go back to Charlotte's house.

She walked down the street, slowly, she had no reason to be anywhere. She knocked once on Charlotte's door, and her best friend, now changed out of her fancy purple dress, threw open the door. "How did it go?" she demanded, dragging her depressed friend indoors.

"I didn't tell him." She whispered.

"What." Charlotte didn't exactly phase this as a question, more as the one word that got out of her complete disbelief that her friend could have failed what was probably her simplest, but hardest, plan.

"I couldn't! Charlotte, he wouldn't let me get a word in. But he got in plenty, oh he got in _plenty_." Margaret griped.

"What did he say? Tell me!" Charlotte demanded, dragging the girl up into her bedroom, and sitting her down in one chairs in front of the fireplace.

"He said he loved me." Margaret said.

"That would make it harder." Charlotte sighed, brushing her wavy blond hair out of her face and turning around.

"That's not all." Margaret said.

"That's not all?" Charlotte said. "What else could he say? What else _is_ there?"

"He said he wanted to court me. He said he loved me, he wanted to court me, he wanted to marry me! And I so wanted to say something, Charlotte, I so did! But I couldn't It was like my tongue rolled back into my throat! I wasn't able to say anything. And I so wanted to marry him, I just started nodding, and he was smiling, and he walked away. I couldn't stand to hurt him! I just couldn't!" With that, Margaret buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

"Margaret! It's not too late, go talk to him!" Charlotte said, sitting across from her friend in another chair, leaning forward, pleading. "Please, it will take courage, but just try, you have to!"

"No! No! No!" Margaret pulled her knees up on the chair and rested her face on her knees. "I can't! I just can't hurt him like that!"

"You'll hurt him more if you don't go now!" Charlotte reasoned.

"I can't. I won't. Please, just let me stay here, just until dinner." Margaret said, her voice flat like stale soda.

"Honey, you can stay as long as you need to." Charlotte said, dipping her head.

…

Alexander and had huge smile plastered across her face, as he walked off his shift and walked to Margaret's house. 117 Baker Street. He had only walked this path once, when he walked her home, but it felt as well known as the path to his own home. He knocked on the door, and a woman, assuming her mother answered the door.

"Mrs. Davidson, I presume?" Alexander said, removing his hat.

"Yes, what may I do for you?" Mrs. Davidson asked, tilting her head up.

"Is Mr. Davidson here? I have some business with him"

"Yes, but I do not remember hearing you were coming."

"He should not expect me, but with any luck, you shall see me again."

With that, Alexander walked behind Mrs. Davidson to the office.

"You have a visitor." Mrs. Davidson rapped on the door. She turned to Alexander. "Please, go in."

Alexander pushed the door open and saw Mr. Davidson sitting behind a big oak desk, and Mr. Iverson, a frequent customer at the shop, sitting across from him.

Alexander cleared his throat. "Mr. Davidson?"

"Yes son?" Mr. Davidson replied. "Spit it out." He put down a quill and looked at him with piercing eyes.

"I have recently met your eldest daughter, Margaret." Alexander began.

"And?" Mr. Iverson interjected.

"Well I love her. And I came to ask your permission to court her." Alexander held his hat in front of his stomach, just waiting for a reply.

Mr. Davidson slammed a hand down on the desk and leaned back, tipping the chair off its front two legs. He laid one hand on his cheek, and a thick spread of disapproval was smeared across his face.

"What are you playing at boy?" Mr. Iverson stood up. He had a powdered wig that towered above his head, and fell in a mess of curls. His clothes were a faint green, but embroidered with flowers and leaves, cascading down his painfully tight breeches, and around the hems on his thickly knit socks. "Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea, what you just suggested?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean." Alexander scrunched his eyebrows together.

"How could you possibly even think of courting her, when she's already engaged?" Iverson sneered, leaning in.

"Engaged, what are you talking about? I didn't know she was engaged!" Alexander spluttered, leaning back.

"Well she is engaged! To me, I may add!"

"When did this happen? How long have you been engaged?" Alexander asked, now becoming angry.

"Two days, and already morons like you are coming after her. You missed your chance boy, now it's time to move on!" Iverson sneered, pushing Alexander back.

Alexander looked at Iverson, for just a few moments. Finding no words to say, he put his hat back on his head and walked out of the Davidson house and into the dusty streets of the town.


	4. To Add to The Fire

**Well first off, I kind of like this chapter. Well, I wrote them, so I kind of like ALL the chapters, but originally, I was going to have Ben [ and Felicity] come back towards the end of the story [that's where the 'and praying that Ben will come back to them one day' part of the summary came from. But after this, I decided to make that a little…different. You'll see, you'll see. So just wanted to mention that. And I have another author's note. Sorry. **

**Well, I came to a decision. I never intended this while writing Battlefield. But as I'm starting to write Courtship I realized something – I freaking love writing colonial stories! :D So I sketched out some new characters in my sketchbook, and mapped out some plots. So I've come up with four different stories, like a series. The first one is Battlefield. The second one is the one I'm working on right now, Courtship. When I finish this, I'll give you the title and summary of the next one. When I finish the next one, I'll give you the title and summary on the last one. For each one, it's a different character from the series, not to mention characters coming back that I've created. So I'm really excited about that, and wanted to share with you guys. So same old, same old, review and what not. To the story!**

"Margaret, darling, wake up. You've slept through breakfast already!" Mother rubbed Margaret's shoulder.

Margaret had had an interesting night of sleep. First, she was up crying, knowing that she will lose Alexander, and in only a matter of time. After that, she fell into a restless sleep. She awoke while it was still dark, but instead of getting up, she just laid there. She succumbed to the depression, and couldn't even find enough strength, enough bravery to get up. As soon as she heard someone coming up the stairs she closed her eyes and faked sleep, just so she didn't have to talk to them.

"Margaret, be you sick? It is eight 'o' clock! Oh Margaret, do wake up!" Mother said calmly, though some urgency leaked into her voice. "Margaret, you're not sick are you? Please wake up, Margaret!"

Eventually, Margaret said up and faked a yawn, hoping it would add to her whole "I was just asleep because I'm tired. No, nothing else is wrong. So do not ask me." façade.

"I'm awake mother, I'm awake." Margaret said, resting her arms on her knees.

"Oh good." Mother sighed, sitting down on the sheets next to Margaret. "I have a surprise for you! We're taking a carriage out to the beach, Ben so wanted to go! And we haven't seen him in so long, now could we refuse?" Mother smiled. "Did you miss Ben?"

"Of course I did!" Margaret said. "I'll be so depressed when he leaves." She sighed. "I missed having him around, but I guess he had to leave to go be an apprentice, go off to war, go get married."

At the mention of Ben's marriage, Mother frowned. "Yes, yes, he did, didn't he? Well are you excited to go to the beach?"

"Aye." Margaret said, going to go lay down again.

"Oh no you don't!" Mother spun around. "Get up! Get up!" Mother walked over to her wardrobe and shuffled through the dresses. She picked one out and tossed it at Margaret. It was cream colored, with a light pink ribbon around the waist. It was trimmed with a little bit of lace, but not enough to make it quite fancy. "Here," Mother commanded. "Put this on."

"Margaret very, very slowly lifted the sheets off of herself, and rolled them at her feet. She slowly rolled out of bed, and stretched her back. She picked up the dress, and went to go change.

"I shall check on you in ten minutes." Mother said sharply. "You shall be dressed and ready." With that, Mother turned on her heel and walked out of Margaret's room. Mother walked down the stairs and to the room where Felicity and Ben were. _Of course they're sleeping this late._ She thought. _Ben never did this when he lived here! He was always up on time, done with his chores. They she comes along, and he practically falls apart. She found some way to enchant him, trap him. And now she's pregnant, and he's stuck with her. Someday he'll come to the realization that he didn't marry the right girl – probably when he finds a nice gentlewoman, with charm, poise, and refinement. And she never had any punishment for this! Could her parents possibly have __**raised**__ her this way? No, no, that would not be parenting. She became like this on her own. Ben was always a bit too much of a hothead, he did not notice what he was getting himself into until he was already knee deep in trouble. Well he had to see her in a different light, before they built a so-called life with each other. _Mother knocked quickly on the door, but then pushed it open.

They both lay on the bed, sound asleep. Felicity was nestled in Ben's arms, a slight smile on her face, but near undetectable tear stairs down her cheeks. Ben had his arms wrapped around her, with both hands resting on her still slight baby bump. The shared body heat had seemed to be too much for them in the early spring weather, for all the covers were kicked on the floor. She looked at Ben's face. His nose was buried in her bright red hair, and there was not just a hint of a smile on his face, it was all over his face. He looked thrilled just to have her there.

"All right, get up! Get up!" Mother snapped, clapping her hands. "Get dressed! We're going!"

Felicity sat up sharply, and accidently knocked Ben's chin. "Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his jaw.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Felicity said, wrapping him in a hug. "I didn't mean to! I'm sorry Ben!"

"It's okay love," Ben laughed, wrapping his arms around her. "That didn't hurt at all."

"Are you sure?" Felicity asked, biting her lip, looking up at Ben still.

"Positive! You just caught be by surprise." Ben smiled. "Besides, you didn't mean to."

"Enough of that!" Mother snapped, clapping her hands some more. "We're going to the beach, and in just a few minutes! Get up, get dressed!" Mother turned and walked out of the room, to go make sure Margaret was up. Felicity and Ben stretched, but went to go get changed in to clothes for the beach.

…

Mother placed one hand on Father's arm, and brought herself closer to him. Father held a parasol over her head, to prevent any unsightly burning. No matter though, for Mother wore gloves and a wide brimmed straw hat. The walked slowly down the beach.

"Margaret must be quite tired. She must have enjoyed visiting Charlotte yesterday." Mother gestured to Margaret, sleeping on a blanket spread over the sand.

"Well, you shall show her the invitation tomorrow." Father said, looking at his wife. "I know you were excited and so wanted to show her today, but you should best wait until she is awake enough to appreciate it!"

"Oh yes, of course!" Mother said. "I remember when I was invited to my first ball. I was younger than her, thirteen." She reminisced. "I do believe it was a masquerade ball. And I believe it was also the most important night of my life."

_Carolyn smoothed her dress. It was brand new, and her favorite by far. It was a smooth, cold, golden silky material, with raised bumps of embroidery and beads. Her hair, for the first time, was pulled back and up into a curled bun, and a beaded pinner balanced on top. A silky ribbon held the mask over her eyes and nose. It was also golden. She smiled wider than before, for everyone had begun to dance the minuet! In her opinion, 'twas not only the best, but it was the most proper of all the dances. At her gentlewoman lessons last year, she had mastered all steps, and considerably quicker than the other girls as well._

_All she needed was someone to dance with. She looked around. Most of the men were much older than her, with powdered wigs and over a foot distance in height. Regardless, most of them were already dancing with older ladies, who were three or four years older than she was._

_She stood up a little straighter and tilted her chin. There had to be someone here to dance with, she could not, and would not sit out her favorite dance._

"_Hello." A young boy approached her. He had scraggly brown hair, but nice enough clothes to convince her he was at least of her class._

"_Good day!" She curtsied, a little awkwardly, but she felt so graceful doing it._

"_This is my favorite dance, and I would not like to sit it out. I was wondering, would you care to dance with me?" The brown – haired boy said._

"_I'd love to." Carolyn took his arm, and he led her to the dance floor. She put her hand in his, and on hand on his shoulder. _

"_May I ask you name?" the boy said, looking her straight in the eye._

"_Carolyn." She said simply. "And who do I have the pleasure of dancing with?"_

"_Michael." He smiled. "Michael Davidson." The dance ended, and the two reluctantly broke apart. "Would you…would you care to take a walk?" he said._

"_It'd be a pleasure." She said, taking his arm again._

_The two made their way through the gardens, talking about topics of general interest. As they made their way out of the garden path, and the light from the candles began to become visible again, Michael turned to her. "May I see you again?" he asked._

"_Of course!" she said. "But how will I know what you look like? How shall I find you?" she temporarily forgot that the gentleman was supposed to find the gentlewoman, not the other way around._

_He took a step closer to her, and kissed her under the moonlight. When he broke away, he said. "No one else will kiss you like that."_

Father smiled. "that it was, darling, that it was."

"And look!" Mother smiled. "Mary's attitude has certainly not changed. She was complaining the whole morning about the sand in her stockings and the salt on her hem. And not she's sitting on that blanket, acting as if she is surrounded by lava instead of sand!"

Father laughed. "And there's Ben and Felicity! She certainly does make him happy, doesn't she?"

"Speaking of marriages, how I wish Mr. Iverson could have come with!" Mother said, fanning herself.

"Yes, yes, but he had that gambling party, did he not? Oh, I've heard of how he bets. You win with one bluff against him, and you're set for a month!" Father said.

"Do not say such things!" Mother said, swatting Father with her fan. "We must ignore the problem. And you just wait. Once he and Margaret married, that cash cloud will rain down on her, and she'll be set for more than a month!"

"Yes, yes, shall be a smart match. She'll have everything she could need, and everything she could possibly want – and more!" Father said.

"Yes! And more! We just need to give her time to see how wonderful this pairing truly is!" Mother said. "And now that you mention it…what on earth?" Mother stopped dead, and looked at her son and Felicity.

Ben and Felicity had been running, yes, Felicity was running, down the beach when she suddenly stopped. She spun around and grabbed his shoulders. She planted her lips on his, and Ben responded by grabbing her around the waist and lifting her up. Felicity leaned back, and pulled him with her, landing them both on the beach. She laughed, but went back to kissing him.

No one else heard, but Ben whispered "Felicity…my parents…my little sisters." Causing Felicity to reluctantly pull away. Ben smiled at her. "I'll remove the temptation." He got up and walked towards the beach, to lie down in the sand.

"NOT HELPING!" she yelled, but the two laughed.

She stood up and walked out to the edge of the pier, removing her socks, as if she was going to take a swim.

"That woman has no class, she is not a gentlewoman!" Mother snapped. "It's time for Ben to see that, before he cannot marry another! He needs to see her as she truly is - a mess!" Mother threw down her fan and stomped towards the two.

Mother walked down the pier, her steps lighter now, somewhat sneaky. She came up behind Felicity. "You've put my son under a spell. Let him go you _slut_. Maybe some water will clean your mind." With that, Mrs. Davidson pushed Felicity into the ocean, and she turned around and walked back off the pier.


	5. That Ignites the Hothead

**Ah! So I got some of those mini- erasers. The Japanese ones that are shaped like animals! I have some that are shaped like pie. Is that a win, or is that a win? Yeah, I'm freaking out too. So you guys like the story? Hatin' it? Let me know! Review! Love you all!**

_13 year old Felicity stood on the edge of the creek, wrapping her arms around her stomach._

"_Come on!" Ben said. "I thought you said you wanted to do this!"_

"_I do!" Felicity insisted. "It's just a little….you know…oh never mind. When should I jump in?" she tilted her chin up._

"_Well not right now." Ben said, taking off his shoes and socks. "For one thing, that's your new dress."_

"_So?" Felicity said. Even at thirteen, she did not care for fashions._

"_So you mother would kill you, that's what." Ben laughed. _

"_No she wouldn't!" Felicity insisted. "If I change quickly enough, she'll hardly even notice!"_

"_Oh yes she would!" Ben insisted. "And if she knew that I let you get all dirty, and if she knew that I taught you how to swim, she'd have my head! So please, at least do this for me."_

"_Well what do you want me to do?" Felicity said. "I can't hold my skirt up and swim at the same time!"_

"_Right." Ben said. "And that's why you need to take it off."_

_Felicity froze. "Ben! No!"_

"_I won't look!" Ben laughed, rolling over so his face was buried in the grass. "Take it off and just wade in the shallow end. Shout when you're in, and I'll teach you how to swim."_

_Felicity stuck her tongue out at Ben, and he laughed and rolled over._

"_Oh my goodness, the water is cold!" Felicity exclaimed._

"_Are you done yet?" Ben asked, becoming impatient._

"_Yes, yes. You can uncover your eyes. You better not have peeked!" Felicity yelled._

"_I didn't! I didn't!" Ben said, a bit of annoyance seeping into his voice._

"_Okay, so what do I do now?" Felicity said._

_Ben smiled. Felicity certainly did not look like she was eleven anymore! She was taller, and much thinner than before. Her skin was pale, but freckles dotted her face and her décolleté from her still lasting refusal to wear her hat and gloves. _

"_Are you coming, or are you going to stand there smiling?" Felicity asked, smirking a little._

"_Yeah, yeah I'm coming." Ben said, shaking himself out of his reverie. He entered the water, wading up to his waist. The water hit Felicity a little above the bottom of her corset. "You're right." He laughed. "The water is colder than normal. Then again, it is April."_

"_Well I don't want anyone else to be here!" said Felicity. "If I drown, I want as little witnesses as possible!"_

"_Okay then!" Ben laughed. "Step one: stick your head under the water."_

"_What if I drown?" Felicity said._

"_I'm right here!" Ben assured her. "Here, take my hand. Go under the water. Even if you feel like you're sinking, I'm right here! I won't let you go."_

"_Okay then." Felicity took a gulping breath and went under. Little bubbles came up, and after a few seconds she broke the surface, shaking her hair out of her face. "Was that good?"_

"_Excellent!" Ben said. "Now kick."_

"_What?" Felicity said, her mouth dropping open._

"_That's how you stay afloat. If you kick, that propels you upward." Ben smiled._

_Felicity, still holding Ben's hand, began to kick vigorously. She still sunk. "That didn't help!" she wailed. "All I got was a good amount of water in my lungs!"_

"_Okay, okay. That was…we'll try again. Kick smaller, and faster. Like a hummingbird's wings." Ben said._

"_I'm not sinking again!" Felicity said, refusing to move._

"_Here," he said, hugging her around her ribcage. "Now I'm holding a good half of you out of the water, so kick!"_

_Felicity held her breath anyways, but kicked like a hummingbird, like Ben said. She didn't sink. _

"_I didn't sink! I didn't sink!" she smiled._

"_Good job!" he congratulated her. He put her down. "Now you move your arms like this" he mimicked swimming through the water. "Think you can do it?"_

"_Absolutely!" Felicity said, brimming with confidence and excitement._

"_I'm not going to hang onto you this time." He warned her, but waded out deeper in the water. "I'll be right here. Swim to me."_

_Felicity grinned, took a deep breath, and dove under the water. Ben watched the bubbles. They moved forward at first, then backwards, then stopped. He waited. He counted…twelve…twenty-four…thirty-six. This was much too. He plunged under the water, the lake was dirty, but clear enough for him to make out her hair, which was caught on a large piece of splintered driftwood. He swam to her and pulled her away and to the surface. She broke the surface, gasping for breath._

"_Are you okay?" Ben asked, gripping her shoulders._

"_Why do I even need to learn swimming anyway?" Felicity griped. _

"_Who knows?" Ben laughed. "One day, it may come in handy."_

Felicity plunged into the water, her red hair streamed above her head. She moved her arms and did little hummingbird kicks, but she just kept sinking. The water had saturated her clothes, and they kept dragging her down. She felt as if she had already been underwater for hours, though in reality, it had been little more than a few seconds.

Little pearl buttons dotted the edge of her stomacher, which kept the dress together. She fumbled with the edge of one, and popped it open. She eventually got all the buttons un-buttoned and slipped out of the dress. She hit the bottom, and felt the pressure ringing in her ears. She pushed off the bottom again, and felt herself able to swim to the top, but slowly.

Her lungs were running out of air, and she needed to get to the surface – and fast! She slipped out of her petticoat, and was able to swim to the top. She swam back, gasping, inhaling deeply. She grabbed the side of the pier and while she was still too tired to pull herself up, at least she wasn't sinking.

"Felicity!" Ben yelled. He was already in the ocean, but was not able to find her. He swam over to her, and grabbed her around the waist, pulling them both out of the water. "Oh, praise the Lord." He whispered, holding them out of the water.

Felicity was still gasping for air, though slightly less now. Ben pulled her back to shore, and laid her on the shore, laying down next to her.

"Felicity! Ben!" Margaret came running up, and sat down next to her brother and his wife. "What happened? Are you guys okay?"

Mary came up behind them, and stood at their heads. "Thank goodness you're okay!" she put her hands on her hips. "What on earth just happened here?"

Ben sat up. "I'll tell you what happened." He grimaced. He walked over to his parents. He grabbed his mother's arm and pulled her away from Father.

"Ben you're hurting me!" Mother snapped.

"You're hurting my _wife_!" Ben yelled. "What could possibly ever possess you do to that?"

"Do what?" Mother said innocently.

"You know, so don't you even give me that act! You see my wife, lying over there?" Ben pointed to Felicity, who was still lying on the beach. Margaret was tending to her, stroking her head like she was her very own sister. Mary sat on her other side, talking to her. Ben turned back to look his mother in the eyes "You weren't just playing around! You could have killed her! Do you know what that is Mother? That's _murder_. If I reported you, you would be thrown in jail!"

"You wouldn't report me!"

"You shouldn't try to kill my wife! How could you! You just met her for the first time! How could you hate her so much to risk everything you have in order to just hurt her! What has she done to you that is so bad?"

"She took you!"

"What do you mean? We were married! It happens Mother! We fell in love! Why is that wrong?"

"You never should have married _her_!"

"Why not? I fell in love with her! We were childhood friends! I've never, ever felt closer to anyone in my life! Why shouldn't I marry her! I LOVE her, Mother!"

"She is NOT a _nice_ girl!"

"What!" Ben exclaimed. "Ever since we got here, you've been awful to her! Everything she's done is wrong, she's spilled the flour, she's not dressed properly, everything you could possibly pick on, you did! You made her feel awful, she cried every night she was here! And still, she said nothing! She just wanted to get along! She IS a nice girl! You're the awful one!"

"Don't you dare say that! Everything I did was just to punish her!"

"PUNISH HER? What the hell are you talking about? First of all, what on earth does she need to be punished for? Second of all, what gives you the right to punish her for everything?"

"She's pregnant! How can you not see that?"

"It's my child! That's how it's supposed to work! Don't you want grandchildren? Are you going to be this awful to Margaret when she gets pregnant or Mary when she gets pregnant?"

"Of course not! I don't even want to be this mean to Felicity!"

"Then why are you?"

"Because she got pregnant _before_ she was married!"

"Oh it was bound to happen eventually, it just happened a bit earlier than we expected!" Ben said, throwing his hands down. "It's still my child, so what does it matter?"

"She was _willing_ to be pregnant, she knew it was wrong! She's a bad influence, she's a bad person! She'll get herself in all sorts of trouble, and you're too in love to even notice how awful she is!"

"We made a _mistake_, don't blame her, blame me then! I'm so sick and tired of your attitude towards her! You refuse to even welcome her to the family! She's not going anywhere, so you might as well get used to that!"

"Never." Mother spat. "That _slut_ will never be a part of my family!"

Ben slapped her. He looked at his mother, as shock overcame her. His voice became low. "Guess what. She already _is_. She's carrying your first grandchild. Who you would have also killed if Felicity had drowned. What if she didn't know how to swim? That grandchild, who, may I add, you will never meet. And just because you don't want Felicity here. And if you don't want her here, then you don't want me here. So we're going, and we're never coming back. I never want you to be able to hurt her again."

Mrs. Davidson put a hand to her cheek. Ben's slap brought all the blood rushing to her face, leaving a bright red mark. It was warm to her touch. She was at a loss for words. Everything her son had said. Everything he had just said, _to_ _her_ _face_. It was too much to process.

Ben didn't care if his mother had any reply to this, his mind was made up. He walked away from her, not looking back, and sat down next to his wife. "Is she okay?" he turned to Margaret.

"She's breathing, she's awake. I'm sure she'll be fine. She just seems…exhausted. Perhaps it's shock…" Margaret said. "Did she fall off the pier?

"Ask your mother." Ben spat.

Margaret raised her eyebrows, and Mary snapped her head to the left, but both chose to say nothing.

"Good thing she's not wearing a corset." Margaret said. "There's no way she would have been able to breathe that long if she was wearing one."

"I'm amazed she even got her dress unbuttoned." Ben said, pushing Felicity's hair back out of her face.

"I'm amazed she fit into it!" Mary said, brushing some sand off her skirt. "She may have a small baby bump, but she's still showing."

"Well she hasn't exactly had time to sew new dresses." Ben smiled. "She always wants to help on the plantation, and she is great with the horses…and the plants…and well, everything!" Ben laughed. "We should be going." He touched Felicity's shoulder.

"Why are we leaving?" Felicity asked, slowly sitting up,

"I think we've stayed our welcome." Ben said.

"Well I loved meeting you ladies." Felicity smiled. Still sitting, she hugged them both. Ben put an arm around her waist and pulled her up. Together, they walked off the beach.

Margaret and Mary ran up to Mother and Father, and pulled them after Felicity and Ben, both begging them to convince Ben and Felicity to stay! Mother was still silent, and Father, while amazed that his son could say such things as he did [for he had overheard], he still told the children to leave the young couple alone, and be silent the ride home.

The ride home was unnervingly silent, with Felicity sleeping on Ben, and Ben staring out the window. Mary and Margaret, especially Margaret, wanted to pester Ben for answers to why they were leaving, and after just a few days! However, they both sensed their mother and father wished for them to be silent, so they said nothing. Mother sat there, refusing to say anything, especially to Ben. Father just tried to ignore the situation that was happening in front of his face.

As soon as the carriage pulled up to the house, Ben pulled Felicity out, waking her. They walked in, silently packed their trunks. They bid their good-byes to Margaret, Mary, and Father. Mother had gone upstairs, and refused to come down.

Ben shut the door behind him, and Mrs. Davidson sat in a chair at the window, watching her only son take his water-logged wife out to their carriage.


	6. News

**I'm very, truly, really, mushroom-y [yeah, I don't even know either.], for sure sorry that I haven't updated in over a week! I got in trouble, and had my computer taken away. It gets harder to type when you have nothing to type on XD. But I planned out my little book here up until chapter 21, drew some pictures, and can't wait to write more! So without further ado…chapter five! Review please, my doves!**

You would think that everything that happened at the beach would turn the family against each other. You would think that there would be screaming matches over everything Mother had done. But the thing is, they didn't know. Both Margaret and Mary were too scared of their Mother's reaction to say anything to her, and Father was just acting as if everything was normal, and nothing had ever happened.

Just like they would any other day, the entire family sat at the breakfast table. The mood was no different, Mother and Father were chatting, and Margaret and Mary sad nothing, unless spoken to. However, they did have a special guest.

"Do pass the sugar, Carolyn." Iverson said, clearing his throat. The sugar was passed to him, and the meal resumed.

"Margaret!" Mother said, jerking her head up and snapping her fingers, as if she had just made a great discovery. "Look this way. I do have some excellent news for you! Excuse me." Mother stood up and walk-ran to the kitchen in a flurry of petticoats. She was back in just a minute. "Oh good," she smiled. "I knew I didn't misplace it! Oh, oh this is just too wonderful! Everyone, get up, get up! I shall make the announcement in the parlor. Then we may return to breakfast."

The family got up and pushed their chairs in, headed for the parlor. They were ushered by Mother, who seemed to be very eager to say whatever her announcement was. They all sat down on the deep mahogany chairs and Iverson sat next to Margaret on the loveseat.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Well it's great news!" Mother exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Especially for you Margaret, for this will be a very special night for you."

"What is it?" Margaret said.

"The Richardson's are throwing their annual ball." Mother smiled. "I'm sure I've told you of it."

"The Richardson's Ball!" Mary exclaimed, clasping her hands together. Margaret, who had no idea how Mary knew of this, gave her an odd look. "Oh, how I've always wanted to go! People come in from as far as Vermont! 'Tis a lavish night, with wonderful food, music, and company!" Mary gushed.

"That it is!" Mother smiled.

"Ah yes, I've been in attendance ever since I inherited my father's money." Iverson said, stretching an arm across the loveseat and resting it lightly on Margaret's shoulders. Margaret shuttered. "Is not a bad night. They have an excellent selection of liquor."

"Oh, what I would do for an invitation!" Mary said.

"And that's just it!" Mother exclaimed, pulling out a small scroll. "We have been invited! Specifically, you and Margaret have. Only so many people can be in attendance!"

"Oh how wonderful!" Mary shouted, standing up. "I cannot believe it! There are…there are just no words to describe my joy! Oh Mother, are you positive it is we who have been invited, and not some other Mary and Margaret?"

"I am certain!" Mother said. "Here, look at the invitation!" she handed the invitation over to a bubbling Mary. Margaret, eager to be out of the touch of Iverson, stood up and went to go look at the invitation.

"Oh, this is so nice!" Margaret admitted. "I must say, I am a little eager to see if the hubbub this event gets is deserved!"

"Oh, I have one more surprise, Margaret!" Mother said. "Now, the reason we were invited was due to the fact that you are marrying Mr. Iverson! Now, Mrs. Richardson heard of the match, and decided to not only invited you and Mary, but Charlotte as well!"

"Charlotte is coming!" Margaret smiled. Oh how wonderful!"

"Oh yes! She said…how did she put it? Well she said you were the guest of honor, and the soon-to-be most prominent member of society should have a comfortable group of people around her. It was so nice of her to do, and you must be grateful! These invitations are like a key, to a better world, better society!" Mother gushed, a smile stretching across her face, in an almost comical fashion.

"Oh Mother!" Mary interrupted. "Can we have new dresses? After all, we must look our best! Oh please Mother!"

"Well I don't see why not!" Mother said. "The ball is in a few weeks, so it will take some fast work, but I'm sure that three pairs of hands could manage!"

"Oh!" Margaret snapped her fingers. "That explains it!"

"Explains what, dear?" Mother asked, an eyebrow raised.

"When I went over to Charlotte's house yesterday, she had a fancy purple dress on. It wasn't quite finished yet, but I could already tell it was going to be very pretty!" Margaret smiled.

"Oh how lovely. Purple was always her color…"Mother smiled.

"I was thinking..." Iverson said.

_That's a first._ Thought Margaret bitterly.

"Well you mentioned that the reason Margaret and her friend got invited was because of the engagement." Iverson continued. "So does it not seem fitting that we make the formal engagement announcement there? The ballroom has a stage, we call everyone's attention, and I announce our engagement!"

"You should make it even more romantic!" Mary insisted, sitting down next to him.

"How so?" Iverson asked.

"You should propose to her there!" Mary smiled.

"Now why would I do that?" Iverson said, sitting up stiffly.

"Well you're already going to get married, but it'd so romantic for you to propose!" Mary said.

"That would be a sweet thing to do." Mother said. "But it is up to you, Mr. Iverson."

"Sure, why not?" Iverson said. "Are you excited to marry me Margaret?" he smiled.

"_Absolutely not! You are a gambling, conceded, pompous man, and I never wanted to marry you! I already love someone, and you are the sole thing in between us! I don't want you here, and you sir, are welcome to leave!"_

Or at least, that's what she wanted to say. But Margaret, being Margaret, just looked down at her feet and said nothing.

"Well?" Iverson was becoming angry at her lack of response.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it!" she said, running out of the room.

She stopped in front of the door. What if it was Alexander? Oh! She smoothed her skirts and opened the door. It was not Alexander, it was Charlotte.

"Well you're coming with me, young lady! I need to hear everything!" Charlotte demanded.

"Okay, okay! Just let me tell Mother." Margaret said, turning to go back to the parlor. Charlotte saw herself in.

Margaret entered the parlor. "Oh Mother!" she called.

"Hush for a moment, Margaret." Iverson said. "I have a bit of a…headache, and your yelling is starting to annoy. It has been decided, I will, er, propose to you at the ball. Very good? Yes, now what were you going to say?"

_How could they have decided that without me? I didn't get a chance to put in one word!_ Margaret thought, her mouth dropping open and forming a little 'o'. But she gained control of herself quickly, and resumed with what she had originally planned to say. "Mother, I am going over to Charlotte's house."

"Very good, be back soon." Mother said, a little confused at why Margaret would want to possibly leave amongst all of the excitement, but seeing no particular reason for her to stay, allowed her to leave.

Margaret smiled and left the room as soon as she could, before Iverson could demand a kiss goodbye. Charlotte grabbed Margaret's wrist and yanked her out of the house and down the steps. Charlotte was trying to make Margaret run, but Margaret was a little tired still, and was not exactly an "outdoorsy" person. So it ended up looking like a small dog being held back by a short strand of rope. Eventually, Charlotte pulled Margaret up into her room, and sat down next to her on a small couch.

"Well! What on earth did he say?" Charlotte asked, leaning forward.

"What did who say? Charlotte, you're not making any sense!" Margaret said, her brow furrowed.

"Alexander! I want to hear every word!" Charlotte said, what little patience she had draining from her.

"I told you. I didn't say anything. He asked me to court him." Margaret said bitterly. Why was she rubbing this in?

"No, no!" Charlotte said, rubbing her knees vigorously. "After that! When you went to go tell him the real story! The next day! Tell me!"

"Charlotte!" Margaret said. "I didn't go see him the next day! How could I?"

"You didn't?" Charlotte said, disbelief clouding her face. "What? Why not?"

"How could I?" Margaret wailed. "He'd be furious!"

"So?" Charlotte said. "You needed to go! I told you it'd take courage, but you had to do that, Margaret! I told you that!"

"It's just, I just can't! No! I won't!" Margaret said, pulling her knees up.

"Well then tell me what he said." Charlotte sighed.

"Don't try and be funny Charlotte." Margaret spat.

"No, no, I know you didn't go to him, but tell me what he said when he found out." Charlotte reassured her that she did not mean to poke more fun at her.

"How would he have found out?" Margaret said.

"Are you kidding me?" Charlotte laughed without humor. "This is the biggest event this town has seen in years! It got you, and me, and invitation to the most snooty, upper – class ball there is! Everyone has been dying to match their daughers up with this man, for they'd be set for life! Don't think your father was the first to try to set up a match with him! Nearly every girl in this town has met him!"

"So do you think he would have already heard?" Margaret asked.

"I think," Charlotte said. "If he had heard, he would have already come to you, demanding an explanation."

Margaret bit her lip. "So you still think he doesn't know?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" Charlotte said, a smile breaking out on her face. "So do you know what this means? It's not too late! You must go, go now! Go talk to him! Before he does find out! You're lucky enough that he doesn't already know!"

"Oh Charlotte, I couldn't!" Margaret said, standing up and throwing up her arms. "Oh never, never!"

Charlotte stood up and followed her. "Oh, but Margaret! You have to! It'll take courage to go, but not as much as after he knows!"

"But he'll never forgive me!" Margaret wailed. "He'll think that I led him on, and lied to him, and, just…I just can't!"

"But you must!" Charlotte said. "It's better that he hears it from you than on the streets! If you go and tell him yourself, then he'll have the whole story, and how you never meant to hurt him this way! He'll forgive you, he loves you! He won't stay mad at you, or at least not for long." Charlotte squeezed Margaret's shoulders, but Charlotte's face darkened as she presented the other outcome. "Or if he hears it from anyone else, or even worse, Iverson, the outcome may not work out. The engagement will be thrown through rumor mills. People will mishear dates, will misunderstand intentions and understand it differently. And a small town's confusion will be balled up and presented to him."

"What do you mean?" Margaret said, looking down at her feet and biting her lip. "Could it really get that bad?"

"Well, let's say Jennifer Richardson marches into the shop." Charlotte said, referring to the gossipy, spoiled, daughter of the infamous Richardsons. "For no outstanding reason. A spool of thread, perhaps. Alexander helps her. She brings up the ball, and naturally, the guests of honor. Alexander is confused. Iverson and Margaret _Davidson_? He refuses to believe it, he asks more questions. Jennifer tells him you have been engaged to Iverson for months now, and the smart match will be the center of her famous ball." Charlotte said, imitation the condescending way Jennifer carried herself, with stiff shoulders and nose up in the air. "She tells of what a lovely couple they'll make, and more gibberty – jabber. Then she will direct the conversation back to herself, as she usually does. Alexander, of course, will pay her no mind, and his mind will reel. He'll come over here, demanding answers to burning questions! He'll-"

"Stop!" Margaret said, holding up a hand. "I understand. Believe me, you've played the part well. But you don't understand Charlotte! I can't, I simply, truly can't!"

"Oh yes you can!" Charlotte said. "You're legs aren't broken! Your tongue is capable of sound! It'll take courage Margaret, I know it will! But I also know you can do it!"

"He needs to know." Margaret stated, as a fact. "Someone who knows the whole story needs to tell him."

"Right you are, Margaret!" Charlotte smiled, glad her friend was coming around. "Now go, before the store closes!"

"Someone who can explain everything." Margaret continued. "Someone who is not on Iverson's side." She turned to her best friend. "Can you go?"

"What?" Charlotte said, her eyes widening. "You want _me_ to explain everything to him?"

"Oh yes, please Charlotte!" Margaret begged. "You're braver than I, please go try to convince him! You know the whole story, and I know you can answer every question, and you'll tell him the truth! I know you're on my side! Oh Charlotte, I know it's asking a lot! But please, please do it for me! _Please_!"

"Margaret," Charlotte said softly. "Margaret, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Charlotte, you don't understand!" Margaret said, hands clasped together. "He has to know! But I can't! You _can_! You're my best friend, Charlotte, no one else can do this for me! Oh please!"

"I think this is something he'd like to hear from you." Charlotte said, voice still barely above a whisper. "I don't think I should do this."

"Come on, Charlotte!" Margaret said. "I'm begging you! Is this not better than Jennifer? Do you not want me to be happy?"

"Of course I want you to be happy!" Charlotte exclaimed.

"Well then help me be happy!" Margaret said.

"Fine." Charlotte said, her voice a sigh. "I'll go. If you really can't do it, I'll go."

"Oh thank you Charlotte!" Margaret wrapped her arms around her friend.

Now Charlotte could talk the talk, and she could walk the walk. But this still didn't feel like her battle.


	7. Confrontation

**Ok, so I'm back, I'm back. Guess what? My room got painted! It's now a sea – foam - ish green and I'm going to get new curtains and whatnot to make it look more like a New England room. I love New England. Who's pumped? I is pumped. Oh, yes. Chapter seven. Oh heffalumps yes. Review. Yes, you. No, not you! The one touching the computer. Yes, review. Love you. Ok, bye.**

Now, Charlotte was a naturally aggressive girl. She was not very good at holding her tongue, and tended to yell when upset. Her opinions were never kept to herself, and that and caused a few more fights than she may have liked to have. Now this mostly resulted from an overconfident disposition and a high opinion of herself.

She did not mind fights, and if it was for something she really believed in, and knew she was right, she sometimes enjoyed them.

But this fight was different. The heavy air of June seemed to squeeze her lungs, and press her stomach down. She grabbed the sides of her mobcap and pulled it down over her ears. She walked up the steps to the Merchant's shop, and took a deep breath.

The bell rang, announcing her arrival. She saw Alexander, and walked up to him.

"Can I help you, miss?" the owner of the shop asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Nay. But if I may, I should like to talk to Alexander, outside if you will."

"Very well." The shop owner bowed his head and went back to work.

At the mention of his name, Alexander turned around. "May I help you, MISS!"

"Oh please, call me Charlotte." She said. "Everyone who knows me does. And we're about to get to know each other real well."

Alexander bunched his forehead together in confusion, but followed the blond outside.

"I need to talk to you about Margaret." Charlotte said. Resting both hand on her hips.

"Margaret who?" Alexander said, his face immeadeatly darkening.

"You know who I'm talking about!" Charlotte snapped. "Margaret Davidson, you love her!"

"Yeah, well that doesn't matter." Alexander shrugged.

"That you love her? Of course it does! Why wouldn't it matter?" Charlotte said, her voice beginning to rise.

"She's engaged." Alexander stated, as if he was talking about the weather.

Charlotte's mouth hung open like a fish's, and she stood frozen for a moment. "How did you know that?"

"I went to go ask her father to court her. Much to my surprise, she's been engaged longer than I've known her." Alexander spat, turning his head to the side.

"Oh Alexander, she tried to tell you!" Charlotte said, rolling her eyes back in her head and dropping her shoulders.

"She tried to tell me? Ha! I asked her if I could kiss her, she kissed me. I asked her if I could court her, she said yes. I didn't rush into this without her consent! I didn't think I was making all this up in my head, but I guess I was because she's engaged!" Alexander yelled.

"She should have told you but-"

"But? But _what_? She absolutely should have told me, I would never try to date a girl who is engaged! Never! I'm not that kind of person! Why didn't she tell me? I would have backed off, I wouldn't have tried to ruin her engagement to that twit! But why didn't she tell me?" Alexander yelled. It sort of scared Charlotte, and seemed to make her bones vibrate inside her body. But she kept a calm face, and didn't let him know he was scaring her.

"Because she loves you!" She yelled, almost louder than he had.

"Loves me?" Alexander laughed without humor. "If she loved me, she would have ended the engagement. If she loved me she would have told me, she wouldn't have kissed me, or flirted with me, or sat and talked with me for hours! And if that's how she shows that she loves me, I don't want to love her!" He clenched his fists at his sides and sneered down at her.

"She kept trying to come and talk to you, but she was just so scared of what you would say, she just couldn't!" Charlotte said, blame seeping through her voice.

"Well she should be scared of what I will say! I'd like to talk to her right now! I don't understand how one person could be so _cruel_." Alexander said, screaming most of the phrase and getting quieter, stressing the word 'cruel'.

"Alexander! You take that back!" Charlotte snapped. "You hurt her as well! Why did you not seek her out? I told you! She's too scared to come talk to you, that's why she sent me! So why don't _you_ go talk to _her_?"

"Because she's the one who hurt me! If she really loved me, they'd she'd come here! If she doesn't love me…well then she can send as many of her friends as she wants, because I won't talk to her." Alexander said, definitive in his statement.

"Is that what it would take for you to forgive her?" Charlotte asked, a smile forming at her lips. "That's all? If she comes and talks to you, then all will be understood and forgiven?"

"Of course not!" Alexander snapped. "She still lied, and she's still engaged! What am I supposed to do about that? I can't whisk her away under the moonlight! This isn't a fairytale, and things just don't work out like that."

"But it could help! You two could run away, but you have to work things out! Please, at least have me go back to Margaret with good news! Just please tell me that you love her!" Charlotte begged.

Alexander smiled, but it was a smile full of spite. "I'll do you one better" he said, the smile still at his lips. "I'll tell her everything I want to tell her, and I'll tell her in person."

"But what if she doesn't come?" Charlotte threatened. "Then things will go unsaid, love proclaimed, actions undone! What will you do then?"

"Well if she doesn't love me enough to come talk to me, then it's best the things go unsaid, the love unproclaimed and the actions undone." Alexander said, crossing his arms.

"Alexander, please tell me at least one thing." Charlotte asked.

"That depends entirely on what you want to know.

"What will it take for Margaret to prove that she loves you? If you are not willing to take it in faith, then there must surely be some way she can reassure you of her intent!" Charlotte begged, palms out and open.

"I don't know!" Alexander said. "I don't know what it is, what she'll have to do, when, if ever, it will happen, but in order for me to tell her everything, whether she wants to hear it or not, she has to prove that she loves me."

"Oh Alexander, that may be asking too much!"

"Is it? Well if that's too much, then I guess we were never meant to be together, now were we? Now if you'll excuse me, I have an apprenticeship I would like to keep." Alexander turned on the heels of his shoes and went to go back into the shop, but paused for a moment. "Oh and Charlotte, one more thing."

"Yes?" Charlotte replied, a little skepticism in her voice.

"You might want to stop being Margaret's servant. Truly, it's strange." Alexander smirked and went back inside.

_Servant? _Charlottes cheeks turned a deep crimson. _I am not her servant! I am just a friend helping another friend! And what does he know anyway? He has not known neither me nor Margaret long enough to call us anything other than 'Miss Charlotte' and 'Miss Margaret'! How dare he say I am a servant! Oh!_

Charlotte balled her hands into fists and stomped down the street. Tears started to well up in her eyes, and she looked down so no one walking down the street could see her cry. She wiped her eyes and sniffled, trying to walk a bit faster. She started to cry and run and - ran right into a young man. She lost her footing and ended up face – first into the muddy roads.

"Oh my God!"

Charlotte looked up pushing mud out of her eyes. She looked up and saw the young blacksmith, Ross Ribaudo. His father was the original blacksmith, and instead of taking on a different man for an apprentice, he chose to keep his son in the business.

"Miss, I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking! And oh my God! I'm so sorry!" he said.

"It's okay." Charlotte mumbled. "I wasn't looking where I was going either."

"No, no, it's my fault!" he said. "I got mud all over you, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay." She mumbled again, still not quite sure what to say. "I'll change when I get home."

"You're bleeding!" he said, some shock in his voice. "Here, we have bandages back in the smithy – we tend to get hurt a lot – I'll wrap up your arm and try and help you get rid of some of that mud."

Charlotte looked down at her left arm, and saw that it was bleeding quite impressively, staining the lace on her sleeve. Ross helped her up, and after a few more apologies and concerns for her well – being, they made it back to the Blacksmith's shop.

"It's quite dirty." Ross laugh – stated. "But there's a chair if you need to sit." He gestured towards a large wooden chair. He hopped up some stairs to go find some bandages.

Charlotte smiled and went to go look around. Normally her uptight mother refused to let her go into any store that wasn't clean enough to eat off the floor. Of course, such a thought would be unthinkable to her mother. She enjoyed seeing a place where real work happened.

"Found some bandages!" Ross said, coming down the stairs.

Charlotte ran over to the chair and sat down, waiting for him. Ross came into the room and kneeled next to her, wrapping her arm in the slightly dirty bandage. He secured it.

"I think you're going to live." He gave her a crooked smile and laughed a little. She smiled back.

"Do you want to wash off some of the mud?" he asked. "I don't know if you mind wells or not, because like I said, this isn't the best place for sanitation."

"I think it's lovely." Charlotte smiled. "And if you wouldn't mind showing me to the well, I'd be quite appreciative."

"Sure!" he smiled. He took her hand and helped her up, leading her outside to where there was a well and a small dish of soap.

Charlotte ran the soap through her hair, combing out the mud. She rinsed her hair, then picked the mud off her dress and face.

She laughed. "I'm soaked." Gesturing to her dress with large patches of water, her soaked hair that got dragged down to her wait, and her shining porcelain face.

Ross laughed as well. "Do you need an escort home?"

Now Charlotte knew the way home, and was tough enough to take care of herself, but she really would like to talk to Ross some more. "That would be nice." She smiled.

He offered his arm and walked her home. They walked down the slightly muddy roads, dirtying her hem more than her mother could possibly be comfortable with. Now every gentlewoman lesson Charlotte has had told her to be secretive, aloof, and make no more than small talk for the first month or so. They made small talk for a bit, and then he asked her about her friends. That was the bait she could not resist, and she opened up like a book.


	8. Monstrosity

**.com/watch?v=xfeys7Jfnx8 - surprise! Watched it a hundred times in a row, easy. Hilarious, but also kind of deep. A little. Fun for the whole family. XD**

Margaret could not wait to hear what Alexander had said to Charlotte, but she really had no choice. She had gone home after Charlotte had walked out to go see him, and she had gone through an eager night of butterflies, making it impossible for her to eat more than a few bites at dinner.

However, another thought had been nibbling at the back of her mind. She knew that after what she had seen, this would probably not be the easiest subject to talk about. So she was quiet through breakfast, and made sure that she had done all, or at least most, of her chores before she went to go talk to Mother.

It was nearing 2 'o' clock, and though it worried Margaret, to go have a conversation with her mother. And that scared her out of her wits. Not all conversations, just this one. She knocked on her mother's bedroom door, where she would probably be inside; she mentioned that she had some knitting to do for Mary's dress.

"Come in!" Mother said.

Margaret pushed open the door and leaned on the frame, arms crossed. "Mother, may I ask you something?"

"Anything." Mother replied.

"Why did Ben and Felicity leave so soon?" she asked. "I thought they would be staying for a few weeks, it was not a short ride, after all. But after the beach, Felicity fell in the ocean, and then they left! He kept yelling at you. Mother, what on earth did you do?"

Mother stood up. "First of all, if you do not know the whole story, you cannot accuse me! Do not say 'Mother, what on earth did you do?'" she mocked, her voice higher and quieter than Margaret's actually was.

"I'm sorry!" Margaret said. "May you please tell me what happened?"

"Why do you need to know?" Mother snapped.

"Well if you didn't do anything, they why can I not know what happened?" Margaret questioned. "That's all I want to know! I miss Ben already."

"As do I, but we didn't need that wife of his around." Mother said, looking out the window.

"That's another thing!" Margaret said. "Why didn't you like her? She seemed lovely to me."

"Sit down, Margaret." Her mother commanded, snapping around.

Margaret's heart stopped at the sharpness of her mother's voice, and she walk -ran to the bed and sat down.

"I'll tell you everything." Mother said.

"Oh thank you, that's all I wanted." Margaret smiled.

"Quiet!" Mother snapped. "I'll tell you everything that happened, but you cannot, I repeat, cannot tell anyone else."

Margaret's heart dropped into her stomach on the thought of what exactly this could be. But she nodded her head in agreement, for the thirst for the truth was too much for her to resist. She slid over to be closer to her Mother, and folded her hands on her lap.

"I hate her." Mother spat, beginning the story.

"Felicity?" Margaret questioned.

"Don't interrupt me! And yes." Mother said, smoothing her skirts as she turned to face her eldest daughter.

"I don't like that she was already pregnant before she married Ben. I don't think he needs that…trash in his life!" Mother said, hands starting to ball up into fists.

"Mother!" Margaret exclaimed. "You don't!"

"I do!" Mother said, exhaling loudly, as if the mere mention of her daughter – in – law aggravated her. "So we went to the beach, and I had to watch her kiss him."

"So?" Margaret said. "They're married!"

"Quiet Margaret!" her mother snapped. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Yes Mother!" Margaret said, assuring her mother. She was instantly silent, in hopes it would convince her Mother to keep talking.

"Then be quiet! I do believe I have already told you that I insist upon silence!" Mother said, staring down Margaret until Margaret got too scared to maintain eye contact, and looked down at her well – polished shoes.

"Well she had him under some spell, she has to! I never, ever would teach my son that you choose the type of girl…well the type of girl that she is! She begged him to teach her to _spit_. What on earth would a girl have to know that for? Well, he also taught her to swim. So I figured that she could, erm, _use_ that knowledge. Also!" Mother added, as if justifying her actions. "I hoped it would show her that I was sick and tired of her lecherous behavior, and that she was not allowed to behave so around my family! Parade around her lack of upbringing and class – as if it was something to be proud of! It sickens me. So I pushed her in."

_Mother how could you! That girl kissed her husband, and I'm sure you've kissed Father! She loved him, she didn't do anything wrong! Her behavior was not __**lecherous**__ – she was quieter than you could expect most girls who were the victims of the bullying you inflicted on her! You owe her an apology! No, you owe her more than an apology! I can't even fathom how you could possibly get her to forgive her! She did have class, and was a gentlewoman, for one thing, she didn't punch you square in the nose! _Margaret wanted to scream that at her mother, but she had been instructed to hold her tongue, so she bit it and looked farther down, allowing her curls the cover her face.

"And then became angry with me." Mother huffed, rolling her eyes.

_Of course he did! You nearly killed his wife, who I could tell from the few days they were here, he loves her very much! What you did was wrong Mother, it was criminal! How could you? This is surely not the mother I grew up with, is it? _Margaret bit her tongue harder, it seemed as if it could bruise. _Can tongues even bruise?_

"He yelled at me, and for quite some time. I'm surprised Father said nothing." Mother continued. "You know how Ben gets, he's a hothead. He continually said that I could have killed her. She knew how to swim! She told me herself. For all her knew, I was just trying to refresh her! And then after he had covered that topic quite well, he moved on to telling me that I would never see my grandchild. I don't-"

Margaret had had enough. "Mother!"

"Margaret!" Mother said. "I wasn't done speaking!"

"I don't care!" Margaret said. "What you did was awful Mother! It was wrong, on so many different levels! And Ben may be a hothead, but he loves Felicity! He did not over - react, he was standing up for his wife! Ben did what was right! And speaking of Ben being a hothead, he may say things quickly, and sometimes without thinking, but he means them Mother! You won't be able to see your grandchild – or if they're lucky, grandchildren, ever! I know he wouldn't let you! Don't think he wouldn't be completely serious! You have to fix this Mother! Well, you can't fix it, but you have to try and make it as right as you! You have to apologize, as a first step! Please, just write them a letter! Bless their marriage and birth, and apologize for every awful thing you have done!"

"That's enough!" Mother yelled. Margaret did not feel as afraid this time. "I do not need to apologize, she needs to apologize for her behavior!"

"Mother, you have to! Write the letter!" Margaret pleaded.

"I don't have to do what you tell me!" Mother laughed without humor. "I am your MOTHER! You listen to me, and you listen well. You asked to hear the story, and you heard it. Now stop criticizing me for having more backbone than anyone in the family, allowing me to actually say something!"

"Mother, that was wrong!" Margaret reasoned. "Please write the letter!"

"I'll tell you what." Mother spoke slower, drumming her long fingernails on the table by the master bed. "I'll write the letter." She said too calmly for Margaret's comfort. "I'll write the letter, after you marry Mr. Iverson."

Margaret shrunk back, placing a hand on her stomach. Since when was her corset so tight? Why was she breathing so oddly? Why was her mother looking at her like that? Did she know she did not like him? If so, why did she not say anything nor do anything before? Would she do something now?

"Now listen to me, and one interruption will result in repercussions, I promise you that." Mother hissed.

"Mother, please-" Margaret began, but her mother's hand collided with her face, sending it snapping to the right. Margaret was silent as she place a pale hand to her face, feeling the warmth from the blood rushing to her face.

"I said listen!" Mother snapped. "You're going to act as if this never happened. You are not to share this story, and you are not to act different. We are going to work on Mary's dress and you are to be cheerful and act normally. Do you understand me? Agree if so."

"Aye." Margaret said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." Her mother straightened back up. "Let us go downstairs."

The two walked down the staircase to the living room, where the youngest child of the Davidson family stood on a mahogany short table, covered in what looked like 50 yards of fabric and ribbon.

"Finally!" Mary said. "Are you finished with the socks? I need them to be pure white, not eggshell like the others."

"Oh Mary!" Mother exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face. "You're look so wonderful, and the dress is not even complete yet!"

"Thank you, Mother."

In Margaret's opinion, Mary looked like a monstrosity. The bodice was too tight, and flowed out at the bottom, in a pitiful effort to give her 13 – year – old ruler body some curves. The sleeves puffed out so much, it looked as if two mufflers were sewn to her shoulders. The sleeves were made entirely of lace, and clutched to her arms, creating little soufflés of skin pushed through the holes in the lace. The stomacher seemed as if it was nothing but a colossal effort to attach every type of bead, lace, and other fashion paraphernalia in the smallest space possible. The petticoat was a deep rose, and streached out wider than Mary was tall. Another skirt, a light shade of pink, covered it. The overskirt was trimmed with lace and beads on one side, as if it was to be continued. Margaret circled around her sister, and say faint appearances of flower embroidery on the petticoat. She would certainly stand out.

"What do you think, Margaret?" Mary asked, clasping her hands together.

"I think it's…" Margaret began in a monotone voice, at Mother's stern glare, she turned her happiness up 100 percent. Her voice became chipper and false as she lied "Lovely! It shall look even more fantastic once it's done!"

"I just knew you'd love it!" Mary said, the slight movement of her hips causing the creation to spin about. She turned to mother. "Now Mother. I was thinking that we take the overskirt and bring it back, to show more of the petticoat, and attach it with large bows. Speaking of bows, I believe we could use one on the back of the dress."

"Of course!" Mother said. "The ball is in a little over two weeks, so we should have plenty of time! Of course, we will also need to make Margaret's dress."

"Oh, that's fine. I think Charlotte can help me on it, and I with her dress. I see creating such a … lovely dress for Mary will require a lot of time, and I don't wish to be in the way."

"Oh that's very sweet of you Margaret! I do thank you." Mary smiled. "While now that we have more time," she turned to Mother. "I was thinking that we could make a better neckline, like some translucent lace and some bright, pink probably, lace around the neckline. In perhaps a square – shaped line? That's very vogue over in England. And while we may have split from them, we cannot rid ourselves of every influence, thank goodness!"

Margaret laughed a little, not loud enough that Margaret would hear. Her little sister would certainly be the belle of the ball. She was certainly as big as one. 


	9. Margaret's Dress

**Well how is everyone's summer going? I usually talk about me, so why don't you all talk about yourselves for a bit? Thanks for reading, and please review!**

"Margaret!" Mother said, sticking a few dozen pins into the petticoat of Mary's dress. "Why don't you go work on your dress? The ball is in just a couple weeks, and you best start getting ready! Why don't you select a fabric from the fabric cabinet, and head over to Charlotte's?" she suggested, raising a dark brow.

"Oh Mother," Margaret said. "Can I not use some of Charlotte's fabric? Her mother is a seamstress, and has a much larger selection. I'm sure she won't mind."

"If you're sure." Mother responded, accidently pricking Mary with a pin, forcing her to let out a crow – like squawk. "Now make haste! The ball is approaching faster than you may realize!"

Margaret smiled and grabbed her hat. The August sun would beat down on her, and with her luck, she would be covered in freckles like a spotted lizard. She walked slowly to Charlotte's house, partially because she was a notorious slow – walker, and partially because she was afraid of what Alexander had said to Charlotte. She knocked on the door, but impatience eventually got the best of her and she just pushed open the door. They wouldn't mind. The two families had been intertwined for years.

"Charlotte?" Margaret yelled. "Charlotte, are you here?"

"Yes, yes child!" Charlotte's mother came into the room, brushing her flour – covered hands on a lacey apron. "She's upstairs in her room! There is no need to shake the house with your yelling! Have you not been to your gentlewomen lessons?"

"I'm very sorry." Margaret said very softly. Charlotte's mother was always a picky woman. "May I see myself to her room?"

"Yes, yes." Charlotte's mother had already begun to turn to head back to the kitchen, waving her hands as if shooing Margaret away like a bug. "I do believe she's working on her dress."

"Thank you." Margaret said quietly, walking up the staircase. She pushed open the heavy wooden door, painted a deep forest green, and walked into Charlotte's room.

"Margaret!" she smiled, leaning forward on s heap of purple fabric, as if to conceal it.

"What are you working on?" Margaret asked.

"Nothing you can see until it's finished." Charlotte said with a smirk. "It's the dress for the ball. Now what do I attribute as the reason for this visit?"

"Well my mother sent me over because I need to work on my dress for the ball and the reason that I'm here is because I need to know what-"

Margaret was interrupted when Charlotte stood up from her bed, tucking the purple lump under her pillow, and said. "Well we'll get to your second reason later! If you haven't started your dress yet, you won't be able to do it alone!"

Charlotte led Margaret to the fabric closet. She pulled open the doors, and revealed fabric in nearly every color of the rainbow, and every pattern the color could be in.

"Well, what color do you want?" Charlotte asked, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. "Pink would be a pretty color on you."

Margaret laughed. "After seeing what Mary did with a pink dress, I don't want to wear pink ever again!"

Charlotte giggled. "What did she do?"

Margaret smiled at her best friend and leaned in, as if Mary could possibly hear them. "Well she's layered every shade of pink possible and covered it with beads and ribbon and lace. It poofs and lumps and puffs, the skirt is as big, and probably as heavy, as a church bell! She stands on the little tea table, and it's a wonder it hasn't snapped under the weight of that much fabric!"

The two girls laughed, until Charlotte said. "Okay, so pink is out. Now what color do you want?"

Margaret slapped her hands on her skirt. "Oh I don't know! What color would look good on me?"

"Maybe red?" Charlotte smiled, placing a fingernail on her bottom lip. "With black lace. And tight. Get a few dozen young men to follow you around, and beat up Iverson."

Margaret smiled at the thought of someone beating up Iverson, but sighed when all the boys steady began to look more and more like Alexander. "Alas, that may not be enough. I don't know what to do about him…" she leaned against the door of the cabinet. "But no, I don't think my mother would ever let me leave my room if I wore such a thing!"

"Well what about a nice blue then? That would go nicely with your hair." Charlotte suggested, bulling out fabric that was a deep sapphire.

"Oh," Margaret cocked her head, and stroked the silky fabric. "That's really pretty! I'd love for my dress to be this color…do you think that you could help me make it?" She asked, biting her lip.

"I thought that was implied, Margaret!" Charlotte laughed. "Here, I'll sketch out a pattern, and we can get started today. And then we can work on whatever the other reason you came over here for was about."

Margaret bit her lip again and followed Charlotte and she grabbed the fabric, a sewing basket, and a basket of lace. Charlotte dumped everything by a low table and pulled out a charcoal stick and a piece of paper.

"So I was thinking that you should have a flowing skirt like this," Charlotte said, sketching a triangular – shaped skirt. "And it could have ruffles on the edges, and on the bottom." She added little squigglies. "And then a stomacher, and lace sleeves, but not tight." Eventually, there was a loose sketch of the dress to work from. Charlotte pushed it towards Margaret. "What do you think?"

Margaret grabbed the paper. Even though it was drawn in minutes, it looked pretty, even in charcoal. "I love it!" she smiled.

"Great!" Charlotte smiled, grabbing the fabric and her scissors. "Let's get started.

Soon the girls were cutting, pinning, and stitching, all under Charlotte's direction. Her mother, the seamstress, had taught her a lot about sewing. After an hour of intense work, the girls had settled into a pattern.

That's when Margaret finally felt relaxed enough to receive the news about Alexander. "Charlotte?" she asked. "Did you go talk to Alexander?"

Charlotte froze a little, and some color left her face, but she did not pause too long before speaking. "Yes I did, we talked behind the store."

"Well first off," Margaret said. "I would like to thank you for doing that. It was a lot to ask, I know, and I'm grateful you're a good enough friend to go do that without anything in return! Thank you, Charlotte."

"It was nothing." She replied.

"May I ask what he said?" Margaret asked, her heart hammering, her hands sweating, and the needle slipping out of her hands a lot.

"It's not what you might want to hear, Margaret." Charlotte warned her, looking into Margaret's brown eyes.

"I don't care!" she said. "I need to know if there's hope!" she put the fabric down and looked into Charlotte's eyes.

"Okay." Charlotte sighed. "Well for one thing, he wants to speak to you. That's the good part. He says he won't speak to all of your friends and family members, he wishes to speak to you. That's the good part."

"Did he actually say anything to you?" Margaret asked. "Or did he just send you away?"

"Oh no, he didn't say much, but he said enough." Charlotte replied.

"Well TELL me!" Margaret said, becoming impatient.

"He's hurt." Charlotte sighed. "That much was obvious. But he loves you Margaret, I could tell! He doesn't have the story straight, he went to your father. He asked him if he could court you, and your father apparently told him you were already engaged."

"Oh no…" Margaret placed her face in her hands. "Did he say anything else?"

"Well I had hoped that if you came and talked to him, he would forgive you, and he would really like that, and it would certainly be the first step. You need to do that, Margaret." Charlotte said quietly, picking her stitching up again and sewing slowly, waiting for Margaret's reply.

"Charlotte!" Margaret whined picking her head up from her hands. "You know I can't do that!"

"Oh yes you can!" Charlotte snapped. "All it takes is bravery! But you know what? I'm not going to force you. If you want him, you'll go to him. If he's not that important to you, you'll stay home and marry Iverson."

"Oh don't say such horrible things, Charlotte!" Margaret said, her face slipping into a frown.

"Just forget about everything. We have your dress to finish, now don't we?" Charlotte said, sewing little perfect stitches faster than Margaret ever could.

"I guess we do." Margaret sighed, dropping the subject, and picking up the sapphire fabric.


	10. A Formal Dinner

**\**

"Oh, Margaret!" Mother said, waving her eldest daughter over to where she was sitting. "Why don't you help me? Now what exactly do you want this to say?"

"Want what to say?" Margaret raised an eyebrow and walked over towards her mother.

"Well," Mother began, putting down her quill. "I was lying awake last night, and had all sorts of thoughts plague my mind. The house, the children, the food, the coming winter, and so on and so forth. Eventually, one thought pushed them all out of the way. Your engagement!"

Margaret cringed, but knew her mother did not want to hear it, so she nodded towards her mother to have her continue talking. Her mother did not notice Margaret's reaction one bit.

"Well he's been over for family dinners, he's popped over during the day, but we haven't had a formal engagement dinner! With all of our best clothes, best food, we must really impress him! A rich man such as he is used to luxury, and we shall not disappoint!" Mother said. "And the best formal dinners have written invitations, instead of chatter in the streets. So what would you like your invitation to say, Margaret?" Mother raised up her eyes to look at her daughter and crossed her arms.

_Go to hell. _"How about, the Davidsons request your presence at our table for a formal dinner?" Margaret said.

"Good start, good start." Mother said, writing it on the thin paper in her fancy handwriting. "I will add at the end of that sentence 'to celebrate the engagement of Mr. Iverson and Miss Davidson', okay? Okay. Now, I think that adding the time, date, and such shall be fine. Do you agree?" Like always, Mother answered her own question before Margaret even had a chance to put in her opinion. "I think it is just fine! Now, I believe that tomorrow night shall be enough notice. Would you care to invite anyone else?"

_Alexander. _"Perhaps…Charlotte?" Margaret said. "She would certainly bring spirit to the table!"

"Fine, fine, I'll make up one for her too." Mother said, dismissing Margaret by bending back down to her work. "Oh, Margaret!" she added, snapping her fingers as if she just remembered something. "Could you please do me a favor? You know the cinnamon bread you love so much? Well I'd like to make some for Mr. Iverson, and I need a bit more sugar in order to do so. Could you run down to the merchant's shop and pick some up for me? Thank you, darling."

Margaret nodded and went to go get her hat. Then she froze. Merchant's shop? Oh no, that's where Alexander was! She had to be quick, hopefully he wouldn't see her. She walked as fast as she could down to the shop, and quietly pushed open the door.

She scanned the room. Uh – oh, Alexander was helping a customer in the corner of the store. At least he was occupied. She scurried up to the owner of the store, quiet as a mouse, and very quietly asked him for half a pound of sugar.

He smiled. "Are we playing the quiet game?" he whispered back.

Margaret covered her mouth to muffle a giggle. She nodded and whispered back. "Don't let me lose!"

He smiled back at her and filled a parcel with sugar. He placed it on the scale. After a little bit of adjustment, he handed it to Margaret and wished her a good day. Relieved that she had escaped a  
>confrontation with Alexander, she went to scurry out the door.<p>

"Margaret?"

_Crap! _Margaret thought _I was so close!_ Gently she wheeled around on the heel of her shoe. Yes, it was Alexander who had spoken her name, as if she could possibly mistake his voice.

"Alexander." She stated, not even looking into his eyes.

"Margaret, we should talk." Alexander began. "I need to-"

But Margaret didn't hear what she said, for tears filled her eyes and she rushed out of the door and back to her house.

The rest of the day, and the next morning, was filled with planning. Breads, tarts, vegetables, fruits, and meats were baked, steamed, and smoked. Mother barely slept, leaving the bustling kitchen only to reconsider her choices in tablecloth.

"Mary!" she called for the youngest of the Davidson sisters, for this was a matter of importance that Margaret would simply not understand. "Mary, I need your help with the napkins."

Mary came bustling in the room. She had been assigned the parlor and living room, and was doing an excellent job in making sure they were pristine. She had scrubbed, dusted, mopped, washed, rearranged, and swept until the house looked as if it was new!

And she certainly looked like she had worked hard. Her hair and been put up into a milkmaid's braid, but little strands of brown hair poked out of the complicated plait. Streaks of dust and dirt streaked over her face and the uncovered parts of her arms. Dust covered the parts of her skirt were she was clearly kneeling, scrubbing the wooden floors. There were slight bags underneath her eyes, for she had awoken two hours earlier than normal in order to help with the cleaning. But her beaten down appearance was quite the opposite of her personality.

"Oh Mother, I think you should use the lace napkins. They are not of a finer cloth, but they look so much nicer with this tablecloth, not to mention they look more expensive than they actually are. And that's what this is about! Presenting Margaret in a way where she looks, rich, worthy of high society."

Margaret rolled her eyes, but continued to scrub the many dishes in the kitchen sink.

"Very true." Mother agreed, nodding her head. "Go fetch them, if you will."

Mary scurried off. Mother then turned around and walked back into the kitchen, back to Margaret. "Now Margaret," she said. "Mr. Iverson will be coming over here in just two hours. I shall run a bath, you must start getting ready."

"Yes, Mother." Margaret agreed. But what kind of primping or preparing could possibly take two hours?

Well she would soon find out. First, she had to take a bath. Mary scrubbed peppermint oil through her hair to make it softer, and lemon juice to make her blond hair even blonder. Her face was also scrubbed with lemon juice, to get rid of the few freckles she had. Her skin was first cleaned with lard soap, and then rinsed with buttermilk to make it smooth.

She was dried off, and her shift was slipped over her head. Mother combed through Margaret's long hair, while wet, it hung down to her waist. Mary, in an effort to speed up the drying process, used her hand fan to wave the cool air at it. After an hour, Margaret was now clean and had dry hair.

Margaret had a mix of mashed avocados and olive oil spread on her face, and Mother and Mary began the task of tackling Margaret's unruly, curly hair. It was brushed, and brushed, and brushed until it shone like the sunrise. After that, the avocado and olive oil mixture was gently washed off, leaving Margaret's face glowing.

She put of a silk petticoat, so she could feel it against her skin. She was then given false hips, one of the few times she had even worn them. She did not even have a set of her own, for she saw them as uncomfortable and ridiculous. She wore her mother's pair, and Mary planned to dress in her own, for Mary had embraced fashion. A padded, fluffing petticoat was slipped on next, to give the full skirt of her dress even more volume. Three more petticoats were layered over it.

Margaret then tightly gripped the pole of her bed, for she had to wear a corset – and it had to be tighter than normal. Both Mother and Mary worked to squeeze all the air out of Margaret's lungs, but giving her a ridiculously small waist. Margaret gasped for a few minutes, but her breathing eventually stabilized a bit, and she was able to breathe, however little it may be.

The dress was slipped over her head, and other than her near – completed ball gown, it was Margaret's best dress. It was minty green, with a violet stomacher. Little robin's egg blue and violet flowers dotted the skirt, while mint ribbons twisted over the stomacher. The little buttons on the back of the dress were done up.

Margaret's hair was pulled up into a high bun. Little whisps of hair were wrapped in rags to be curled. Her hair was voluminous, and made the abnormally large bun look small in comparison. Little natural twists and curls of hair flowed back into the bun, making it even prettier than it already was. When she was finally deemed ready, the rags were yanked out of her hair, revealing the complete, shined – up Margaret Davidson – soon – to – be – Iverson.

"You look lovely!" Mary exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

"You do look beautiful, Margaret." Her mother smiled. "Made all of our hard work worth it! Now come, come. Take a look in the mirror."

Margaret walked over to the ornate full – length mirror, and spun around. For two hours work, it was a lot to show. She looked simply beautiful. She smiled. And sighed. If only she wasn't looking beautiful for _Iverson_.

"We must get ready." Mother said, grabbing Mary's wrist. "Mr. Iverson should be here any minute now, and we do not wish to be late for our own engagement! Now, go downstairs. Greet whoever comes first – Charlotte or Mr. Iverson." With that, mother and Mary ran out of the room and into their own respective rooms, to change into nicer gowns and put their hair up.

Margaret went down the stairs. She spun in the living room, and her father clapped for her. "You look lovely, Maggie." He smiled, hugging her shoulders.

Margaret smiled back at him. Just then, she heard a knock at the door. She opened the door, and there stood Charlotte.

"Are you ready for this fine engagement?" Charlotte asked, using her mocking snooty voice, and sticking her nose in the air. "The invitations were okay, I am used to embossed, I will admit."

Margaret covered her mouth to hide her laughter. "Come in, come in!" she said, ushering in her best friend.

Charlotte no sooner had a seat that Iverson came to the door. But he did not knock, he just walked in like he owned the place. Of course, Father did not object. Mother did not either, for she rushed down the stairs, while putting an earring in, in order to greet him. Mary followed shortly.

The Davidsons and company sat down in the parlor, and conversed over appetizers. Margaret tried to talk as much as possible, for her mother told her that it would be better if she said little to nothing. Charlotte, being Charlotte, said as much as she usually did, which was a lot.

After some discussion on topics of general interest, the party moved to the dining room. Iverson pulled out a chair for Margaret, and Mary and Mother simply went to pieces over what a gentleman Iverson was.


	11. Blacksmith

**PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE IF YOU DON'T ALREADY. PLEASE. IT'S IMPORTANT TO THE STORY.**

**Stupid fanfiction…the end of my last chapter [you may have noticed it was abrupt] was cut off, sadly. And I was already working on the next chapter [this one] so I can't re-post, for I delete them off my hp after they're posted. I'll just tell you what happens. It's a boring dinner for Margaret, Iverson's conceited and talks about himself the whole time, and he invites poor Maggie back to his manor, which he spent the dinner bragging about. Margaret declines, but he demands she come next week, some time before the ball. She agrees under the pressure of everyone's gaze, however reluctantly. So sorry that happened, I won't start work on the next chapter before I see the other one anymore! So thanks for your continued reading, and please review!**

Charlotte got up earlier than usual, for she needed more time to get ready, but her mother was on a very strict schedule, forcing Charlotte to be downstairs for breakfast by seven 'o' clock every single morning, regardless of what day or occasion it was.

So Charlotte awoke at 5:30 instead of 6:30. She washed her face with buttermilk, and brushed her hair more than usual. She braided her hair in a blond twist, falling off her left shoulder and down to the middle of her ribcage.

She put on her favorite dress. It was aquamarine, and fell down to her ankles, showing her black buckled shoes. It did not come in at her hips, but rather at her waist, which Charlotte liked for it made her look skinnier than the rest of her dresses. A ribbon cinched around her waist, and she tied it in a big bow in the back.

She looked in the mirror. She liked how she looked today. She rarely braided her hair and she liked how she looked. She looked…different. But in a good way. It made her feel better, stand taller. She wanted to change something else. She took some of the hair out of her braid and let is swing out until it hung in front of her face. She walked over to her bedside table and opened the door, taking out a pair of silver scissors. She looked in the mirror again, admiring her face from all angles, giving herself a few more seconds to decide whether or not this was a good idea.

_Snip snip snip_ the old scissors squeaked a little and golden blond hair fell around her feet. When she was done, bangs dusted her eyelashes, framing her face. For having no experience in cutting hair, Charlotte did remarkably well.

After the precise seven 'o' clock breakfast, Charlotte was free to leave the house. And she did, after all, that's why she got all dolled up! She picked up her skirts and quickly walked down to the blacksmith's. She knocked on the door.

Ross, with dirt streaked all over his face, answered. "Oh, hello!" he said. "Did you, uh, have an order?"

"No." Charlotte said confidently. "I just wanted to see your shop." She tilted her head and tried her best to look as if she had no ulterior motive whatsoever. "Is that okay?"

"Oh yes, yes, of course!" Ross stammered, stepping out of the doorway to allow her in. "There's not much to see, and you may get bored."

"Oh, I'm just curious is all." Charlotte said, walking into the dark and dust room. A fire burnt in the corner, with iron tools resting in it, for later use.

"Do you need to sit down? Are you thirsty?" Ross asked, wiping his hands on his breeches.

"No, no I don't want to be a hindrance!" Charlotte said, waving her hands. "I just want to watch you work."

Ross looked confused. "Really?" he furrowed his brow, as if he couldn't believe that Charlotte was saying something like that. "Well…if you're sure."

Charlotte smiled. "Just tell me if I'm in the way."

Ross nodded and turned back to his work, periodically checking over his shoulder.

Charlotte sat on a thick wooden rail, relatively close to the fireplace, and put her feet up on a little wooden stool. She put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands. Her blond braid dusted her thigh and she had to blow her new bangs out of her eyes. They itched a little, but that might just be something she needed to adjust to.

She watched Ross just make…well, everything. Swords, pans, knives, you name it! While it was interesting to watch, after a while her butt began to hurt and her foot fell asleep. She rubbed her legs, for they were starting to ache. She didn't want to leave quite yet, but she was not made for sitting still. She had to _move_.

"Hey, Ross?" she asked, hoping she wasn't interrupting him.

He stood up and wiped his hands again. "What is it, Charlotte?" he replied, smiling.

"I was wondering…can I make something?" she asked, biting her lip and preparing for a 'no'.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"Well, I'm not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. But I've been sitting here watching you all day, and it looks so interesting. I was wondering if I could help you make something. Whatever, really. It's okay if I can't, I was just wondering." She looked at him and bit her tongue.

"Sure, I mean, if you want to." Ross said, taking her hand at first but dropping it.

Charlotte said nothing for a moment_, Ross just touched my hand, oh my goodness_. But she regained herself quickly and said, "Great!"

"Well I just have to make a hammer, so that's pretty easy." Ross said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Okay, so what do we have to do?" Charlotte said.

"Well, first of all, are you sure you want to do this? It's sooty and dirty, and you might ruin your dress." Ross warned her.

"I'll be fine." Charlotte assured him. "It's just a dress."

"Well if you'll be fine…" Ross shrugged. "Here, you have to pour the molten iron into the mold. Don't get any on yourself, it'll burn like hell."

Charlotte wrapped her hands around the handle and lifted. It came up, but was still quite heavy, and was starting to tilt back towards the fire.

"Here…" Ross said a bit nervously. "Let me help you, I don't want you to spill any, though I'm sure you can lift it by yourself. Better safe than sorry." He smiled and wrapped his hands around hers, carrying it over to the mold.

Charlotte bit her lip. It was sort of like a hug, but not really. Regardless, her heart beat a little faster and she felt her stomach drop down. Together, they poured the iron into the mold. She could hear him breathing, for his head was right next to hers. Her stomach dropped. Again.

They walked back over and put the pot back into the fireplace. Ross held on to her hands a few seconds longer, but released her hands. He smiled at her.

"There, good job." He said. "It has to settle now, so there's not much more we can do."

"I actually kind of enjoyed that." Charlotte smiled, throwing her braid back so it fell down on her back. "Do you like your job?"

"Aye, I do." Ross smiled. "I like knowing that I can make most what I'll need. I'm good with woods too."

Charlotte smiled. "That's good. Where do you live? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"Well, my family is up in New York, so I live in a little house outside of the town. It's more than enough space for me to be honest. It's got three bedrooms, and big rooms downstairs. But I got it for a good deal, and it'd be good for whenever I get married." He laughed. "Every time my mother writes, she always asks me if I'm married yet. She doesn't really seem to understand that I'm only eighteen."

Charlotte laughed with him.

"Watch out!" he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her away from the fire and towards himself. "Uh, sparks. You'll get burned." He said, still not releasing her.

"Oh, well thanks for not letting the backs of my legs get burned." Charlotte smiled, still not entirely believing that she needed to be pulled away that far from the fire. She had seen a fire before, and knew there was a very slim chance of sparks coming that far from that size of fire. But she didn't let go either.

"Well, uh, now what?" Ross laughed in his adorably awkward way.

"Well, I should probably be heading back." Charlotte smiled sweetly, looking at him to judge his reaction.

His face fell. "Yes. You'll probably be missed, won't you?" he bit the inside of his cheek. "Oh, I'm still holding on to you, aren't I?" he released her and put his hands behind his back, looking a little embarrassed.

Charlotte smiled. He liked her! He really did! Then Charlotte, being Charlotte, stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her back immediately and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer again. Charlotte snaked her arms around his neck.

Eventually, she was the one who had to break away gasping for air. "Now," she gasped. "I really should go."

He mimicked a frown, but his genuine smile returned quickly. "Must you?" he held her closer. "What if I don't let you?"

"Well," Charlotte smirked and raised her eyebrows, "I guess you'll have to escort me to the Richardson's ball, now won't you?" she unraveled her arms and moved them to his arms, leaning back a little, so she could see his whole face.

"Richardson's ball?" Ross asked, genuinely confused.

"Yes, yes, I didn't know of it either before this year, but apparently it is quite extravagant. Which is why the meager common people are not told of it." She said sarcastically.

"Well then how do you know of it? Urm, not to be rude, or anything." Ross asked.

Charlotte waved a hand as if to brush off any idea of him being rude. She didn't think he possibly could. "Well, my best friend, Margaret Davidson, do you know her?" Ross nodded and Charlotte continued. "Well she got an arranged marriage, and to Iverson, of all people!"

Ross made a disgusted face, but it disappeared quickly.

"You don't like him either?" Charlotte laughed.

"Well," Ross said. "He's given me some business, so I can't exactly be rude directly to him. But he didn't have the same respect with me. He was rude, said awful things, and kept try to test the sword I made for him out on me. Though I do believe he was drunk that day."

Charlotte gasped. "That's awful! Did you not tell anyone? A constable, perhaps?"

"What good would it have done?" Ross shrugged. "He did not actually hurt me, so there was no need to report him, and with no evidence other than a few empty brandy bottles, there is no way anyone would believe me!"

Charlotte sighed and looked down.

"I'm sorry for getting off topic," Ross said. "You were saying?"

Charlotte said, "Well, horrible man he is, Margaret is being forced to marry him. But because he is probably the richest man in town, that has instantly made Margaret a member of high society. And apparently we are known as a pair, so I was invited along. As was her little sister, Mary, but she's a bit of a pain."

Ross laughed, "You do not already have an escort?" he asked, hopefully.

Charlotte perked up. "Nope!" she pulled herself closer. "I was hoping you would escort me." She said, trying to make her green eyes wider. She tended to get what she wanted when she did that.

"I would love to!" Ross said smiling, but that smile disappeared quickly. "But I was not invited. I am not friends with anyone rich, nor am I rich myself."

"That does not matter!" Charlotte said. "Escorts do not need invitations."

"Oh!" Ross smiled. "Then I would love to escort you! When is it?"

"Later this Month! August…28th, I believe. Six 'o' clock! We're going in the same carriage with Mary, Margaret, and Iverson, if that's okay."

"Sounds lovely" Ross smiled, and kissed Charlotte again, though quicker this time.

"Fantastic!" Charlotte smiled. "But Ross?"

"Yes?"

"Can you let me go? I _really_ have to go now."


	12. Dinner with the Devil

**Okay, so originally we were supposed to have a few other chapters in between the last one I posted and this one, but I combined some of the elements from the chapters into different, already read, chapters. And some of them I decided were pointless and didn't add enough to the story to be worth keeping around. And plus, you all want to get to the Margaret and Alexander, right? That's what I thought. And plus, there's that budding romance for Ross and Charlotte…another thing that I'm hoping you like. You do? You don't? Well tell me, gosh darn it! Review my loves, it only takes a second. ;]**

**P.S. I checked before I deleted the next chapter, woo hoo! :D**

Margaret had received an unnecessary letter in the mail today. She rarely got mail, usually it was correspondence between her parents and family or friends, very rarely did anyone directly write to Margaret or Mary.

So when mail was received, Margaret usually became quite excited. It was usually from Charlotte, when her parents took her on travels to different parts of the country. Sometimes it was from her cousins, the only family members her age, back in England and France. Those were especially rare.

Margaret was quite patient, and would usually save the letter, instead of ripping it open like Charlotte ripped open hers. She would save it, carrying it around in the hidden pocket of her skirt all day, smiling at the fact that it was there. Sometimes she would forget about it, but the sight of ink, paper, books, or anything even marginally related to a letter would spring back her memory.

She would wait until late at night, when the family was sitting in the sitting room around the fire. Her patience would usually expire by that point in time. She would take the envelope out of her pocket, it was usually a little rumpled at this point. She would feel the wax seal. Sometimes it was the letter 'D'. That meant it was from her cousins. If it was a heart, then it was from the personal desk of Miss Charlotte. This letter had an 'I' surrounded by small dots.

She raised an eyebrow. She had never gotten a letter with a seal like this. Usually, she would have put the letter in her pocket, but she had never, ever seen this type of letter before. Her patience evaporated much quicker than usual. She carefully open the letter, revealing large, flamboyant print.

"Who is it from?" Mother asked, once she had finished a letter she had gotten herself from her niece, Rita.

"I'm reading it." Margaret responded, her eyes scanning across the print.

_**Margaret –**_

_**Well you invited me to your formal dinner, so the least I can do is invite you to mine. I want you, just you, to come to my manner tonight, about six o clock. I'll be expecting you. My maids and cooks will prepare the finest meal you've ever eaten!**_

_**With love,**_

_**Your future husband**_

"Oh, that's wonderful! Good think we got the letter now, instead of you reading it at nighttime! Oh, he'll expect you there in just an hour! Hurry, you must get ready!"

Dinner? Alone? With Iverson? The thoughts sent chills down Margaret's spine, as she was hurried upstairs by her eager Mother.

"Now Margaret, I have a very nice dress you could wear. It's a bright pink one, oh you've seen it before." Mother said. "I'll go get it."

Margaret began to breathe harder, sitting down on her bed. She clawed at the strings of her corset. _Did my corset just get tighter? I can't breathe, is this how bad it normally is? Am I just seeing it more now? Oh, why won't it come loose? Oh, Iverson! Why must you like me? And dinner tonight? He specifically asked for me alone…what does that mean? Is he planning something, or was it something he didn't think about? Oh, I don't want to go!_

"I found it!" Mother said. "Good thing I ironed it before, for I don't think I'd have enough time otherwise. Now come, come. We must tighten your corset."

Margaret looked up, brown eyes widening and mouth forming an 'o'. "Oh Mother! Tis quite tight already…must we?"

"Yes." Mother said. "Stand up and grip the bedrail. I promise you you'll be able to breathe."

Margaret wanted to object, but turned around and gripped the bedrail, squeezing her eyes together as if she could squeeze out the pain. Her mother pulled the strings back as hard as she possibly could, eventually releasing, bringing Margaret's waist to a circumference so small you could wrap your hands around it. Margaret gasped for breath, wrapping her thin arms around her waist.

Her head spun and she saw different colored shapes under her eyelids. She sank back onto the bed, trying to bring air into her lungs.

"Oh stop being such a drama queen." Mother scolded, throwing a fan down on top of Margaret's stomach. "Fan yourself, you'll be breathing in no time."

The hard whale bones of the corset refused to let Margaret sit up without pain, so she had to tilt the fan off her stomach and grab it. She sat up and fanned herself, allowing the cool air to fill her lungs.

But her mother refused to notice her daughter's pain, and was more concerned with slipping the fluffed pink dress over her head.

"We're going to have to leave your hair down, we have to leave about…right now!" her Mother said, rushing about, clipping a necklace onto her daughter's neck, and handing her the pair of shoes Mother had made especially for this dress.

As soon as Margaret was deemed 'ready', she was rushed out of the house and down the street. She had to walk quickly, for Mother could not bear to possibly have her late.

Iverson opened the door, a glass of port in hand. "Marge!" he smiled. "You're early!"

Margaret looked behind her to say goodbye to her mother, but noticed she was already walking away, checking back periodically to see her daughter and her daughter's fiancé.

"Come in, Marge!" Iverson slurred, gesturing inside with his hand. "The servants have dinner on the table."

Margaret sat down at one end of the table, and to her disappointment, Iverson sat down right next to her. Dinner was just as annoying as the last one; Iverson talked constantly about himself, his horses, his house, his fortune. Margaret tried not to pass out – both from boredom and her corset.

As the sun began to set, Margaret decided it was the earliest she could go without Iverson becoming cross with her.

"Iverson," she said softly. "I think it's time for me to leave; my family shall be missing me."

"Very well," Iverson laugh – slurred, taking another sip of wine. "Then give us a kiss."

Margaret pretended that she did not hear him [He did say it rather quietly] and walked out of the room, headed towards the door.

Iverson grabbed Margaret's wrist. "Where….you going? You can kiss me. I'm not your apprentice boy."

Margaret froze. "How did you know about me and him?"

Iverson frowned. "I was there when he asked for your hand. I _assumed_ he was just confused." His grip tightened on Margaret's wrist like a vice. "Was I _wrong_?" his voice was deadly.

Margaret gasped. "I must of…misspoke…"

Iverson threw her to the ground, roaring. "No you did not! You kissed the apprentice!"

"No! I didn't!" Margaret begged, a bit in shock, but trying to scramble away.

Iverson leaned back on the table and took another sip of wine. "_What did you do_?"

Margaret, unsteadily, stood back up on her feet. "We weren't engaged!" she begged. "I never cheated on you! You don't have to hurt me!"

Iverson slapped Margaret across the face. "**Don't ever, **_**ever**_** lie to me**!"

Tenderly, Margaret put a hand to her cheek. Blood rushed to her cheek. She felt the warmth prickle underneath her skin. How could she get out of this? How much was he going to hurt her?

Iverson got dangerously close to her. "Don't you ever, ever lie to me again."

Margaret wanted to object. She didn't lie! And why should she even care in the first place, she wanted him to leave her! But if she kept talking, she may not make it out.

So she backed down, and whispered "Yes, I won't lie to you ever again."

"Good." Iverson cleared his throat and turned around, waving his hand. "Be gone. I do not wish to see you."

Margaret took the first opportunity to leave and rushed out of the door.


	13. Using

**Okay, so I'm very very very very very quite very very very very very very sorry it took me a while to update. In my defense, I had a BOATLOAD of homework to do, and not enough time to do it. Not to mention, despite the fact that I know the ENDING of the story, I had major writers block. I'd think of something in the shower or in bed or whatever, and be like 'hey, that's a great idea!' then I'd actually think about it the next morning, and then I'd be like 'oh wait, that sucks.' So I'd think of something else and repeat the process. Okay, not to mention, I want to move this story along a little bit more, not because I don't love writing for you guys, but because I myself am getting a bit eager for the climax, the big moment! So forgive me, thank you for reading, and please review! :D It only takes a second…**

Refusing to breathe a word to anyone, Margaret pushed open the door of her own house, curls spiraling out of control, frizz overtaking her hair, mud splashed along the hem of her skirt and petticoat. She ran up the stairs, losing a shoe, but refusing to go back and get it.

She locked the door and threw herself upon her bed. Tears swam to her eyes, and her bruised chest and shoulders began to heave with her powerful sobs. She needed Ben. He was the only one who could fix this right now, the understanding one, the helpful one.

She grabbed a piece of parchment and her quill and began to write.

_My beloved brother Ben,_

_I know Mother was wrong, and I know, in her heart of hearts, she's sorry. I know she is. But please, please, please come home! I cannot beg you enough! _

_But I need you Ben! Something horrible has happened, with Iverson, and I need you to come home! I can't do this by myself anymore, please Ben!_

_Ben, please._

_All my love,_

_Margaret._

Margaret ran out of her room and down the stairs. This letter had to be mailed NOW, or else she couldn't even sleep a wink! Her mother and Mary called after her, but she paid them no heed, and kept running, despite the fact that she was only in her socks.

It was late, and all the shops were locked up, the shopkeeps gone home to their families. So Margaret kneeled down in the dust and slipped the envelope under the door. She stood back up and wiped what little dust she could off of her skirt, but in all reality, did not really care.

She ran back home, dust and mud splattering Mother's fine dress, but she still just couldn't care.

She ran back up into her room and sat down on her plush vanity seat, looking into the ornate mirror. Staring back at her was a girl, makeup streaked down her cheeks, showing where steams of tears had run down her face. Dirt and mud was splattered across her face, chest, arms, and clothes.

But the most distinctive feature was her hair. It curled and bounced, in some sort of wonderful golden color. It framed her face and fell down to the small of her back, twisting and twirling like tornados. Iverson rather liked it too. In fact, it might be one of the few reasons he decided that she _deserved_ him. Ha!

He had said many things about it.

_I rather like your hair, Margaret._

_Your hair looks lighter today Margaret._

_Did you, did you do something different with your hair today, Margaret?_

_Margaret, your hair looks lovely in this light, it truly does._

_Margaret, you must've…you must of…[touches her hair]_

_Why Maggie, your hair has gotten….quite long. It's truly breathtaking._

Well maybe if her hair wasn't so…extraordinary, he wouldn't like her. She had to get rid of it. Now.

She opened the nearest drawer to her right and picked out a pair of silver scissors. They squeaked a little, but Margaret didn't even notice. She grabbed a small chunk of her hair and _snip snip snip _it was gone.

She took another chunk, and snipped it right off. Golden curls fell to the floor, forming a halo around her bruised feet and tired ankles. She just kept cutting and cutting and cutting and cutting, and stopped.

She truly looked at herself in the mirror. With all the extra weight of hair gone, her curls puffed up, into a sort of fuzz. While the hair only went out to a little above her chin, it stuck out four or five inches. Her curls were quite defined at the top, but for the last few inches, they melted together into somewhat of a marshmallow fluff consistency.

She had never felt more beautiful.

She squeezed herself out of her mother's obnoxiously tight dress, and undid her front-tie corset. She took off her various layers of underclothes, scattering them around the floor, instead of putting them back in the closet like she was supposed to. She slipped into her shift, and went downstairs, for her father was in bed by now, 'twas nearly ten 'o' clock!

Her shift bunched at her feet, but she gathered it up in her hands and walked down the stairs, calves exposed. She entered the family room, and saw that her mother was sitting in her comfy chair, knitting a scarf. Mary was sitting on the edge of the couch, sitting up straighter than her corset required.

Mary then looked up. "Dear Lord!" she exclaimed, dropping her sampler and clutching at her heart.

"Yes?" Margaret asked innocently, mischief flickering in her eyes.

"What on earth did you do to your _**HAIR**_?" Mother almost yelled, clamping thin hand to her mouth.

"I cut it." Margaret stated triumphantly, a smirk on her lips.

"Well, obviously!" Mary screeched. "It's horrible! Margaret, how could you?"

"I wanted to. And I like it, and that's all that matters." Margaret stated, placing her hands on her hips. "It's my hair, and if I want to cut it, I will."

"'But Margaret," Mother began, trying to sound sweet. "At least say you'll let me even it out! And then we can just let it grow, and before you know it, it will be back to its lovely length!"

"No, Mother. If I don't like it, I'll even it out! This was my choice, and it doesn't affect you!" Margaret complained.

"And why are you in your shift?" Mary asked. "Margaret, the house has windows!" she said nervously, looking behind her as if people were peering in, trying to get a peek at Margaret.

"I'll go to bed then." Margaret stated, throwing her arms up and then marching out of the room.

"Good, good." Margaret's mother wrung her hands and also looked out of the window nervously. "Get plenty of sleep!"

Mary smiled, and clasped her hands together. "The ball in in just two days! Tomorrow we shall be getting ready!"

Margaret groaned. "What are we doing?"

"Well," Mother began. "You'll be taking a bath, curling what little hair you left on your head, you'll get an avocado mast. Your skin will be buffed and exfoliated until it shines! You'll go to sleep, and by dusk the day after that, you'll be at the ball."

"And there," Mary swooned. "You'll be proposed to, and you'll be married."

"Yeah." Margaret gulped, rushing out of the room. "Married."

Margaret ran back up to her room and collapsed on her bed. Instinctively, she ran a hand through her hair, and was surprised when she reached the tips of her hair much sooner than usual. Short hair was going to take some getting used to.

She laid down and her back and began to breathe heavily. She had almost forgotten. She was going to be married, and to the most awful man in all of the colonies! A few tears rolled down her eyes, but she pushed them away. No. She was going to be stronger this time, she was not going to cry.

Good thing, too, for she heard a knock at the door. She looked up and said, "Come in!"

The door was pushed open, and Mary walked in. "Hey, Margaret?" she said softly, walking in. "Can I talk to you."

"Oh, yeah, of course!" Margaret nodded, patting the pillow next to her. "You can sit down, if you want."

Mary complied and sighed dramatically. She avoided Margaret's eyes, in the way she always did when she was about to touch on a sensitive subject. "Margaret, I can't help but notice, your…displeasure with marrying Iverson. Why is that?"

Margaret thought for a moment. For one thing, she was happy someone finally noticed that she did not wish to marry the wretched man. For another, she didn't know if she should tell Mary everything. Mary could not exactly do anything for her situation, other than offer sympathy. But because Mary had come up here, Margaret had decided she should give her at least part of the story.

"You're right, Mary. I don't want to marry him. He's horrible, mean, and a cruel man. He's too conceited to ever notice, much less care about, anyone but himself. I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on earth!" she leaned in and smiled a little. "And more importantly, I love another."

Mary just sat there for a moment, absorbing all the information. She gulped and sat up straighter, smoothing her skirts. She turned to Margaret and said, "Now listen. You may not like Iverson, but you have to marry him."

"What?" Margaret exclaimed. "Mary, what on earth do you mean? How could you ever say such an awful thing?"

"Let me talk!" Mary said firmly. "Now don't you love Father? Don't you want him to be able to rest, retire? He's getting older, Margaret, he won't be able to be a merchant for long. Don't you want your family to have the best, to be financially sure for the rest of their lives? Well, don't you?"

Margaret gulped and said "Well, yes, but-"

"See, you want us to be able to live, and live happily! Well, that's natural! That's how it should be! Every child should want her family to be able to live like they want to live. And with father being only a merchant, we won't be able to live like the best! But if you marry Iverson, his fortune is your fortune! When we need money, we will be able to have it! If we-"

"Mary!" Margaret interrupted, shocked. She put a hand to her forehead and stood up. "How could you say such things? You think I should use Iverson for his money? No! I won't, I can't!"

"You must!" Mary insisted, standing up to meet her sister. "Oh, don't act so heroic! Most marriages are business propositions anyway! Love grows, Margaret, and you will learn to love Mr. Iverson!"

"I don't want to have to grow to love someone!" Margaret yelled, fists clenching at her sides. "I already love someone!"

"And you must never see him again!" Mary insisted. "If Mr. Iverson ever found out, he'd refuse to marry you!"

"Then why don't I go see him right now?" Margaret crossed her arms. "Then I'll be free of Iverson, and be able to be with Alexander!"

Now, to Mary, Margaret sounded sure and defiant. However, Margaret knew that she could never see Alexander, not now! He surely hated her, after he found out about the marriage and such. But Mary did not have to know that…

"Don't you dare!" Mary said. "For that, I'll be watching you." She paused for a moment, and seemed to think of something. "And _Alexander_? Surely, you don't mean, you couldn't!" she put a hand to her mouth. "_The merchant boy_? You do not mean to marry an _apprentice __**instead**_of a man of society, do you?"

"What if I did?" Margaret said, sitting down on her bed and looking away from Mary. "Whatever does it matter to you?"

"I TOLD you!" Mary said. "Your marriage choice affects all of us! How your _family_ will live, if we'll be advancing in society, or crawling down! You can't do that to us, Margaret!"

"I can if I want to! I'll marry who I want to!"

"No." Mary stated. She stood up and walked to the door. She opened it, but before walking out, she turned around. "You will marry the best man, not some man you had a fling with. Don't be so stupid, Margaret." She walked out and closed the door, saying. "I'll see to it."


	14. Hearts and Happiness

**So, this chapter is not only like one of the best ones [in my humble opinion] so far [well, my writing is the same, obviously, but I like what happens, believe me, I've been waiting for this just as long as you have. Maybe longer, because I knew what was going to happen before I evens started running! XD], but it's also, in case you couldn't tell, extra super long. This is sort of my 'I'm sorry!' for not updating for a couple weeks, even though you guys kept reading it! So, urm, sorry! Here's your chappie! Review, please!**

**Btw, this is how much I typed for you guys, just cause I love you 5167 words.**

**Oh, P.S. I meant to have even more in this chapter, but as I hit them leaving to the ball, I'm like OH MY GOODNESS I've typed a lot! So I decided to cut it off where I did, and obviously there will be more chapters XD**

**Review!**

"Wake up, Margaret! 'Tis almost ten, you sleepy-head, you!" Mary said, vigorously rubbing her hand up and down Margaret's arm.

"Mmmmmm…." Margaret mumbled, shifting over to her stomach.

"No, Margaret! Up, up, up!" Mary commanded, flipping her sheets back.

Margaret snapped into the fetal position, and her skin instantly prickled from the cool morning's air. "Okay, okay!" she snapped. "I'm up!"

"Good!" Mary sighed, her demeanor shifting. "Do you know what today is?"

Margaret sighed, pushing her short hair out of her eyes. "Thursday?" she said, knowing it was not what Mary was looking for in an answer.

"No, silly!" Mary said, helping Margaret into her green silk robe. "It's the day before the ball! We must be ready, I've already been fed, and you're just barely out of bed!"

"Okay…" Margaret sighed, looking into the mirror. At least her hair didn't get as tangled at night. That was a plus. She stuck the tip of her tongue into the corner of her lip and tipped her head.

"You'll have plenty of time to marvel at yourself later." Mary insisted, grabbing Margaret's arm and pulling her up and out of bed. "But today, we must prepare!"

Margaret threw on a robe, buttoning the buttons up to her neck. Why, today was October first! No wonder it was chilly! Mary ushered her downstairs, while Margaret groaned and rubbed her eyes.

"Finally, we throught you were to sleep until noon!" Mother said, arranging various tins and bottles on the kitchen countertop. "First, bathe." Mother ran her hand over the tins before finally picking a pine forest green one. She handed it to Margaret and turned to walk out of the room. "Use this, scrub it all over your body – but not your face!"

Margaret looked at the tin and sighed. She undressed and submerged herself in the lukewarm bath water, halfheartedly scrubbing her skin of imperfections. She took about half of an hour to do this, and got out of the tub as soon as the water became cold. She quickly dried herself with a nearby sheet, and slipped into the clean shift left for her on a chair.

Patting her almost-dry hair [it dried so much faster now!] she walked out of the kitchen and into a madhouse.

"Are you all clean?" Mother turned around, looking at Margaret. Mother was at Mary's feet, pins stuck in her mouth, trying to hem the bottom of Mary's dress up a few necessary inches.

Oh, dear Lord. Mary's dress had gotten worse than before! The bodice of the dress was skin-tight, surely cutting off circulation! It came in at Mary's waist, with a blindingly pink ribbon wrapping around it over and over again. In an attempt to give Mary larger hips, bright pick fabric ruffled in a 'U' formation around her hips and bottom. Large pink bows rested on her hips, and smaller bows ran up her stomach and chest. The neckline plunged down to her bellybutton, with light, white-pink fabric behind it, covering up to her neck, with a pink beaded neckline. Ribbon was sewn across her shoulders and fell down in twists over her shoulders and down to the back of her knees. Her bright pink sleeves were skin tight up until the middle of her arm, where deep pink tulle puffed out a good six inches from her elbows to her shoulders.

The skirt of the dress was even worse than the bodice! It puffed out three feet on each side, with some basic structuring and lots and lots of tulle. The deep pink outside fabric split out and was cinched with purple fluffy ribbon. Her underskirt was bright hot pink, with ruffles and swirls cascading down to the floor. Bows were splattered across the dress, cinching in bits of the outer skirt with it. The bows were all different colors, but all either a shade of pink or purple. Fluffy feathers were dyed pink and rimmed the hem of the dress, giving the impression that Mary had just walked through a field of exotic molting birds.

"Well, Margaret?" Mary smiled, resting her hands on the obscenely large hips the skirt had created. "Do you like my dress? It's just about done!"

"What?" Margaret mumbled. "Are you adding sequins?"

"Pardon?" Mary looked up again.

"Well, boys will have to fight to get close to you, that's for sure." Margaret said.

Mary smiled at her sister, taking this as a compliment.

"There you go!" Mother patted the edge of Mary's dress. "You're all done." She turned to Margaret. "Oh, good, you're finally done. Your hair is almost dry, and we should set it right away! That way, the curls will be more defined."

"Okay…" Margaret sighed.

Mother led Margaret over to a chair, and sat her down. She took a soaking bowl of shredded rags and rolled her hair. Mother made a tight knot at the end of Margaret's short hair and rolled it up to the top of her head, making another knot to hold the spiraling curl.

Margaret sat still for two and a half hours, just thinking about everything, as Mother continued to roll her hair.

"_Margaret, why, you look enchanting." Alexander smiled at her, threading his hand through hers._

"_Thank you." Margaret said softly as he led her to the dance floor._

"_Are you sure Iverson won't see us?" Alexander asked, scanning the packed floor._

"_I hope he does!" Margaret exclaimed. "I refuse to marry that man, he might as well see us together."_

"_Do you wish to be…married?" Alexander asked, trying to be nonchalant about it._

"_Yes." Margaret smiled, stepping closer to Alexander as they twirled throughout the dance floor._

"_In that case…" Alexander gave her a crooked smile and pulled her through crowds of people. _

"_Alex…what are you doing?" Margaret laughed, crossing her fingers._

"_You mean you don't know? Well, I better enlighten you…" with that said, Alexander got down on one knee and –_

"Margaret!" Mother snapped her fingers in front of Margaret's left ear. "Up, up, darling!"

"What, what's going on?" Margaret asked, rubbing her eyes.

"It is three 'o' clock!" Mother exclaimed. "You have to wake up, you've been sleeping in the chair for a few hours!"

"Oh, okay, um, what am I supposed to do now?" Margaret asked, blinking rapidly, for the new exposure to light caused little flashes of light to appear before her eyes.

"You're supposed to get an avocado mask, that's what!" Mother said, pulling her oldest daughter out of a padded chair and up onto her wobbly feet.

"Why do I have to put avocado on my face?" Margaret asked rubbing her eyes.

"It will tighten your pores and help keep your skin from being so shiny." Mother explained, trying to get Margaret to walk around a bit, and keep her feet from falling asleep.

Margaret laid down on the couch as Mother covered her face with a thick avocado and honey paste. Mary was lying down on the other couch, her face also covered in avocado and honey mask, and her hair also rolled up in rags.

"Isn't this fun?" Mary squealed. 

"I'm going back to sleep." Margaret groaned.

"Wake up, wake up!"

Margaret rolled over onto her stomach, trying to protect her eyes from the glaring sunlight as Mary flung open the curtains.

"Ugh, go away!" Margaret groaned, pulling her sheets over her head.

"No, Margaret! This is the fourth time I've tried to wake you up! Now, it's three 'o' clock, so-"

"Three 'o' clock!" Margaret sat straight up in her bed, pulling her shift back up onto her shoulder. "Why did you let me sleep so late?"

"Well, today is the ball, and you'll be up all night! We figured you would want to be very well-rested. After all…you're getting _engaged_! **Eek**!" Mary clapped her hands a little, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Don't remind me." Margaret mumbled, throwing an arm over her eyes.

"Now, don't go there Margaret…" Mary warned her, opening the other set of curtains. "Remember, you have your family to look out for."

"I can look out for my family while being married to someone I love, you know." Margaret snapped, flipping her sheets back. She put her bare feet on the smooth oak floors, cooled by the chilly October air.

"Mary! MA-HA-ARY!" mother shouted up the stairs. "Is Margaret up yet? Charlotte's here!"

"Why is Charlotte here?" Margaret asked, running a brush through her hair.

"She has your dress, and hers. She's here to make final adjustments and to show off her dress." Mary smiled. "I can't wait to see yours. Isn't it supposed to be a sapphire?"

"Yeah, maybe?" Margaret said. She threw on her over-robe and ran down the stairs. She entered the living room, where the hemming table had been pulled out to be the focal point of the room, with ribbon, fabric, and other sewing paraphernalia scattered on the floor and couch.

Margaret quickly scanned the room and saw her golden-haired best friend across the room. "Charlotte!" she smiled as her best friend turned around. Margaret wrapped her arms around her best friend and hugged her, despite the fact that Charlotte could not hug her back, for she was carrying two awkwardly large boxes.

"Hello, Margaret!" Charlotte smiled, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "Do you want to see your dress?"

"Oh, very much!" Margaret nodded.

While Margaret was not looking forward to the ball, or, more specifically, the engagement that was to be formally announced at the ball. But, well, she _did_ like to dance. And while Margaret did not surround her life with fashion, and did not place as much importance in it as most women, she was excited to see her dress. Not to mention her best friend, with the help of her mother, had made this dress – and just for her! Charlotte had excellent taste.

Margaret's only regret was agreeing to have a blue dress. Margaret was…not too fond of blue. Ah well, Charlotte could sew like it was nobody's business, and probably made some beautiful flowing gown, to make her the belle of the ball.

"Close your eyes…" Charlotte said in a sing-song voice. Margaret gave her a look, but complied. Charlotte grabbed the top box and opened it, tipping and angling it towards Margaret. "Okay…open!"

Margaret's eyes flew open and she gasped, clamping her hands to her mouth. "Oh Charlotte, oh Charlotte, oh _Charlotte_! I love it! I love it a thousand times! It's not at all what I expected, but in the best way possible! Oh Charlotte, how on earth did you know?"

"Well, I had started your blue dress, as you good well know. But then I decided that the blue dress…well, it didn't look like you. So I quickly made up this little number." Charlotte smiled back at her friend and lifted the dress out of the box and handing it to Margaret to give her a better chance to truly examine it.

It was lovely. Instead of the soft and deep blue, it was a powerful and fearless red. It had elbow length sleeves with waves of lace flowing down. The dress would come in at her waist, and it didn't just simply fall straight down, but instead formed a sort of U-shaped curve. Red lace trimmed the bottom, skimming the floor lightly. Margaret pressed it against herself, swirling about, admiring as the shiny black threads woven in the fabric caught the light.

"Oh Margaret, Mr. Iverson will simply love it!" Mary cooed, clasping her hands together.

Margaret shot Mary a look.

"Did I mention that I love it?" Margaret asked, draping the dress over one arm and hugging her friend with the other arm. When she pulled back she asked "Can I see your dress now? Mary said you brought it over."

"Oh, yeah!" Charlotte kneeled down again and picked up the second white box. "That's right, I did." She pulled a deep amethyst dress. It was off the shoulder, with silk ribbon twisting in a cream stomacher.

"Oh Charlotte, you're such a seamstress!" Margaret cooed. "The dress is gorgeous!" She rubbed the fabric of the dress between her fingers. "Oh, silk! Oh Charlotte, it will catch the light from every perspective! You'll certainly be the center of attention!"

"Oh, thank you for your kind words, Margaret." Charlotte blushed. "But I rather like your dress, if you don't mind me saying."

"Oh, you have every right to brag! After all, you're the one who worked so hard on it!" Margaret said. "Though I completely agree, I will admit. It's the most gorgeous dress I've ever seen in my life!"

"Well, put it on, if you will!" Charlotte said, standing up and dusting off her skirts. "I have to make sure it fits! After all, the ball is tonight, we cannot put this off any longer!"

"Very well." Margaret gathered up the dress into her arms like a mother hold a baby and quickly walked upstairs with it.

She slipped it on over her head and delighted in the fact that it fit perfectly. It came in exactly at the thinnest part of her waist, and beautifully flowed down, dusting the floor perfectly: enough to be proper, but short enough so she wouldn't trip over her own lack of coordination. She spun around a few times, just marveling at the beautiful dress Charlotte was able to create!

She left her room and descended the stairs quickly, noticing how the hem was picked up in the front, making walking easier, but lengthened in the back, creating an elegant effect.

"Oh, Margaret!" Mother exclaimed, rushing forward to examine her daughter. "You look gorgeous!"

"Thanks, Mother." Margaret smiled, humbly dipping her head forward.

"You do look lovely!" Mary smiled, pinching the lace at Margaret's elbows, and disapprovingly eyeing the neckline. "Though, don't you think it's a little…tight?"

"Oh, let it go Mary." Mother waved her hand. "She's getting engaged tonight anyway!"

Mary's face broke out in a smile. "She is, isn't she? Now, who wants to see my dress?"

No one replied, for no one had a chance because Mary ran out of the room and up the stairs. She returned, stripped down to her shift and corset, holding the fluffed nightmare in her arms, as multi-shaded pink fabric piled up over her face and spilled over her arms.

"Do excuse my lack of proper clothing." Mary apologized. "But if I put the dress on upstairs, I can't fit down the stairs!" she laughed, as did Mother. Mary slipped it over her head, and Mother laced up the strings behind her back.

Mary stepped up on the table and looked in the full length mirror. She gasped and put a hand to her lips. "Mother!" she swirled around. "Look at my skirt!"

"It's lovely, dear." Mother said.

"Yes, yes, but look!" Mary exclaimed, pointing to the middle of her under skirt. "There's a patch here that doesn't have any lace whatsoever! It's going to look awful! Mother! Fix this!"

"Oh, God." Charlotte mumbled quietly enough that only Margaret could hear. She turned to Margaret and rolled her eyes. Loud enough for everyone to hear, she said. "Well, it's nearing five 'o' clock. I best get home and get ready."

"Oh, well I wish you best of luck at the ball, Charlotte." Mother smiled. "Hopefully you'll find someone!"

In an effort to get out of the house, and out of the path of Hurricane Mary, Charlotte merely said 'thanks', nodded, and exited the house as quickly as possible, taking her dress with her.

"Here, Margaret." Mother said, removing the rags from her short bob with the quickness, skill, and precision of someone who had been styling hair for quite some time.

"Mother! We have to get my lace! Get your caddy!" Mary said, her voice wobbling as if she was on the verge of tears.

"Hush, child!" Mother said. "Let me get Margaret ready, and then we can fix your dress." Mother said, pulling the rest of the rags out of Margaret's hair. "Look at me child." She said, spinning her eldest daughter around to face her. "You look gorgeous!" she said, pinching her daughter's cheeks for some color.

"Thank you." Margaret said, delicately touching the curls that spiraled down to her chin.

"Mother!" Mary's shrill screech pierced the air. "My dress!"

"Oh Mary, you are being an annoyance!" Mother complained, but turned around to root through her caddy.

"Will you have enough lace?" Mary asked, wringing her hands.

Mother stood up from her caddy, straightening her skirts. "Well, no, dear. It seems we…used up all the lace when we were decorating your dress the first time."

"Mother, no!" Mary screeched, clamping her hands to her cheeks. "No, my dress will be a wreck! I'll die of embarrassment!"

"We can go to the seamstresses' and get some more of the lace, she had a lot when we got it the first time, I'm sure she'll have plenty more!" Mother insisted, her voice in the same hushed tone she spoke in when she tried to comfort Mary as a baby.

"P-p-promise?" Mary blubbered, waving her skirt around making no effort to stifle the tears that rolled down her cheeks in big, fat, over exaggerated drops.

"Yes, yes." Mother said, waving her hands and looking for her sunhat. Just because it was October, didn't mean she should take precautions.

"G-g-good." Mary said, slipping out of the dress and running back upstairs to fetch a day dress and her cloak. Mary got frigid easily.

Mother secured her hat and leaned into Margaret, even though there was no way Mary could possibly hear them. Mother whispered, "Now, we'll probably be gone for a good hour, knowing how persnickety Mary can be. But I promise you, we'll be back in time for the ball! Are you excited?"

"Aye…" Margaret sighed, touching her perfect curls once more.

Mother swatted her hand. "Don't touch your hair. You'll muss it up." She walked to the stairs and rested her hand on the banister. "Mary! MA-HA-ARY!" she called. "Are you ready? The time of the ball is quickly approaching!"

"Coming!" Mary shouted back, scurrying down the stairs. Her blue dress swirled about her as she tucked her cloak about her and rushed out the door, followed by Mother.

Margaret waved goodbye, and sunk into the chair as soon as they were gone. Phew! Who knew a ball could be such hard work? Two days of nonstop preparation, not to mention weeks of stress imposed by Mother or Mary.

Still, she picked herself up and went upstairs to do her makeup. She sat down at her vanity and dusted pressed powders across her face, and lined her eyes with eyeliner. She studied herself in the mirror, pleased to find no true imperfections. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small box, in the back of her wardrobe, which was open, for she had not closed it this morning.

She stood up and picked the red box out of her wardrobe, blowing the dust off of it. She smiled, for she knew exactly what it was. Her old doll! She had the curls she had as a child; pin curls, falling to the small of her back. At least, the doll used to have them. In an impulse, Margaret had cut them all off, giving her a sort of hyper-curled bob. Margaret laughed, for her doll's hair was not quite unlike her own hairstyle.

What an impulsive child she had been! As a little girl, she had climbed trees, played in the pond, ran outside without her hat in the summer, and without her cloak in the winter. How amazing it was that such a rash, impulsive child had grown into such a careful, introverted young woman!

Margaret tucked the doll back into the box, and put her back into the wardrobe. She stood up and saw her nearby vanity, with her gleaming ring next to it. Margaret scowled.

No, not anymore.

No longer was she going to sit by as people decided things for her. No longer was she going to keep quiet when truly upset. No longer was she going to accept unacceptable things, especially when she, and she alone, had the power to change them.

She slipped on her day shoes and ran quickly down the stairs and out the door. She didn't have much time, Mary and Mother were to be home in under an hour, and Charlotte would be over again soon, probably bringing Ross.

She sprinted down the street, gathering her skirts up in her arms, exposing her ankles. She ignored the looks she got as she passed by, and shouted apologies as she accidently knocked into passing people.

She pushed into the shop where Alexander was an apprentice, the bell ringing sharply as she entered in a rush. The shop was empty, with only Alexander sweeping the floor. The ball kept everyone at home. Those who were invited were busy preparing. Those who weren't were home anyway, trying to make sure no one saw them outside, confirming the fact that they were uninvited. Due to this, the shop was closing early, as it did every year. Thank goodness for this, so Margaret and Alexander could be alone.

Alexander turned around. "Margaret. Margaret Davidson. We're closed."

"I know!" she said. "But you have to listen to me!"

"Why should I? I tried to talk to you before, but you just ran out!" Alexander spat, putting the broom in the corner and turning to face her.

"I'm sorry!" she said. "I was scared, I was different back then!"

"Oh yeah, and now you've magically changed. Give me a break, Margaret." Alexander said, crossing his arms and looking away.

"I _have_!" she insisted. "I didn't know how to react to the engagement, I was scared, I was passive!" she snapped back, raising her voice. "You have to believe me!"

"Why SHOULD I?" he yelled back. "You led me on!"

"I didn't have a choice!" she said. "I had no control over this so called engagement, it's a business proposition, I know that now! I never wanted to marry Iverson, and I don't now! I wanted to marry you!"

"Oh, GIVE ME A BREAK!" Alexander yelled so loudly it sent vibrations through Margaret's skin, making her cringe. He either didn't notice or didn't care, and continued on. "You want to marry me, eh? Now you love me, right? And you stayed away, never said anything to me, why? Because you were tied up, held captive? Drugged? Why would I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling the TRUTH!" she exclaimed, fists clenched at her sides. "I love YOU! I do!"

"Prove it!" he said, glaring into her eyes.

She took one step forward and planted her lips on his, wrapping her arms around his neck in a way that said how she never wanted to let her go. He still loved her as well, as wrapped his arms around her waist, trying as hard as he could to bring her closer to him. He kissed her back almost instantly, smiling, happy that finally, _finally_, she was his.

Eventually, like most human beings, they required air. So they broke away, gasping, looking into each other's eyes.

"But I'm still engaged." She whispered as quietly as she could, as if by doing so she could not disturb the moment.

"I know," he sighed, kissing her nose. "And we'll fix this, I swear to you."

"I know, I know." She murmured, still not letting go of him.

"Don't you have a ball to attend?" he asked.

She groaned, leaning her head into his chest. "Don't remind me."

"Well, it may be necessary to your breaking of your engagement." Alexander smiled.

"Tell me how." Margaret asked, intrigued.

"Kiss me first." He said.

And she did.

Margaret ran back to her house as quickly as she could, hoping, praying, that Mother and Mary were not home yet. She pushed open the door, and by the fact that she was not instantly bombarded with questions, demands, and accusations, she concluded that they were not home yet.

"We're were _you_?" a playful voice asked.

Maybe not.

"Nowhere." Margaret responded, tucking her hands behind her back and biting her lip.

"Tell me everything." Charlotte emerged from the nearby room.

"Is anyone else here?" Margaret asked, craning her neck around the corner.

"Just Ross." Charlotte said, waving her hand to direct her beau into the room.

"Hi, Margaret." Ross said shyly. "I've heard a lot about you. Charlotte says a lot."

"We're home!" a high voice stated, dragging out the word home.

"You got lucky." Charlotte said, smirking.

"Tell me about it." Margaret said quietly. "Did you get the ribbon?" she called out.

Charlotte leaned close to Margaret's ear and whispered "You are telling me everything later, alright missy?"

"Yes ma'am…" Margaret sighed.

"Yes! Yes!" Mary sprinted into the room in a very un-gentlewomanly way, waving a packet of lace over her head. "We found it! Her last spool!"

"Oh, hush Mary!" Mother scolder, pushing her daughter up the stairs to go get her dress. "It was not the last spool, she just handed us one of many. Now go! We have only half an hour before the ball."

"Yes, Mother!" Mary gasped, for there was so little time! She picked up her blue skirts and sprinted up the stairs, her feet slamming on the stairs.

"Margaret, are you ready? Did you do your makeup while we were gone?" Mother asked, cupping Margaret's chin and tilting her daughter's head up.

"Yes I did, Mother." Margaret said.

"MOTHER! MOTHER! MA-A-A-A-A-A-ATH-ERRRRRR" A voice pierced the air, making the very foundation of the house vibrate.

"Oh dear, I best go see what Mary needs." Mother said, rushing up the stairs.

Charlotte watched as Mother ran up the stairs. As soon as she was gone, Charlotte grabbed Margaret's arm. "Speak now." She said, staring into her best friend's eyes.

"Okay!" Margaret's face broke out in a great smile as she thought of what had happened just a mere fifteen minutes ago. "Well, I was thinking, and I realized that I needed to be more… sure of myself, more impulsive! So I was. I went to Alexander, Charlotte! I really did!"

"Oh my!-" Charlotte's scream was stifled by Margaret clamping her hand over her mouth.

"Hush! Mother cannot know!" Margaret scolded.

"Otay, Otay!" Charlotte said, her words still muffled. "Vet vo of my mouf!"

Margaret released her hand and continued. "Would you like to hear more?"

"More than you could even fathom." Charlotte nodded. "Continue, now."

Margaret smiled. "Well, it's all better now."

"Details!" Charlotte demanded.

"We kissed…" Margaret said softly, clasping her hands together.

"OH MY-"

Charlotte was silenced again by Margaret's hand.

"Quiet, girl!" Margaret scolded once more.

"We argued a bit as well, but that's natural. This hasn't exactly been easy." Margaret sighed. "And it's not even over yet."

"But you're closer Margaret!" Charlotte hugged her best friend, leaning back to look her in the eyes. "That's what counts, you love each other, and that's what matters!"

Margaret opened her mouth to say something modest, but decided against it. "Oh, you're right! Oh Charlotte, everything is finally perfect!"

"Are you all ready?" Mother asked, rushing down the stairs, her head turned to the left, for looking forward was not an option. She held Mary's monstrosity of a dress, as it piled over her head and over her arms. She laid the dress out on a couch, and turned around, putting her hands on her hips. "Now, Ross, is it?"

"Yes ma'am, it's Ross." He nodded, clasping his arms behind his back.

"Now, if you don't mind, you'll have to go into the kitchen, for Mary will not be…uh, properly dressed for the view of a man."

"Very well." Ross nodded and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

"MARY!" Mother called. "You may come down now."

Mary walked down the stairs sideways, for she could not fit walking forward. Her corset had been drawn especially tight, someone could probably put one hand around her waist and join their thumb and first finger together! Her false hips were the largest Margaret, or probably anyone, had ever seen! They must have spanned five feet! Petticoats were layered over her hips, so thick they could have insulated her in the coldest of winters!

"My dress, Mother." Mary said, lifting her arms above her head.

Mother slipped the dress over her head and straightened it, fluffing the skirt so it got those few precious inches of fluff. The lace was smoothed, and then fluffed, along with the feathers on the bottom of the dangerously pink dress.

Mary looked in the mirror one last time, pinching her cheeks for that one crucial bit of shade. "I look lovely, don't you agree?"

"Oh yes dear!" Mother said, hugging her shoulders. "But modesty, dear, modesty. I'm sure you'll be hearing it enough!"

"Oh, really?" Mary touched the brooch at her neck, admiring its lovely shade of pink.

"Really!" Mother insisted. "But girls, girls, we must go!" she insisted waving them outside to the carriage.

"Ross! We're leaving!" Charlotte cupped her mouth and called loudly.

Ross cracked the kitchen door and asked. "Is Mary okay?"

"Yes!" Charlotte replied. "She's fine, Come on out, darling."

Ross came out and the children were put into a carriage, waving to a crying Mother as they pulled away and out to the ball.


	15. Mary Finds A Man

**Well, the last chapter was pretty long, no? Well, this one sort of is too. I'm excited for finishing up the story. Not in the 'oh, I hate writing for these people' sort of way but in a 'ah, climax! I've been waiting for this just as long as all my excellent readers [ and my super sexy reviewers] have!' sort of way. But, I meant to give this to you later, but hey oh hey, I'll give it to you this chapter! At the end…:]**

**No, now.**

**Okay, you get two choices**

**All Mary wants for Christmas is an arranged marriage. She can't believe it! She's fifteen years old, recently single, and not a single suitor has come a-knocking. But the only man who truly wishes to marry her is below her social class. Can she learn to love him anyway?**

**So what do you think loves? Do you like it, are you excited, or are you like OH MY GOODNESS NOT ANOTHER ONE I CAN'T TAKE IT. Either way, I appreciate input, so review and tell me so! Any hints for the Mary story [**_**Propriety**_**] will be answered if asked. Love ya!**

_Knock. Knock._

"_I've got it." Mary rose from her sewing chair, lifting a hand to keep Mother from standing. Mother gave her a curt nod, and continued darning a sock._

_Mary straightened her mobcap, and placed her plait on the opposite side of her neck. She was fourteen, it was time for the suitors to come a-calling, after all! You never get a second chance at a first impression._

_Mary opened the door, not to her suitor, but to Mr. Iverson. _

"_Mr. Iverson!" she exclaimed, dipping into a curtsey. "I'm afraid to inform you Margaret is not currently here, and she is not expected back for quite some time."_

"_Well, that's all as well," Iverson said, pushing his way into the house. "Actually, Mary, I came here to talk to you."_

"_Me?" Mary asked, as if it was the most astonishing thing in the world. She placed a hand on her heart and opened her mouth into a small 'o'. "Whatever do you need to talk to me for?"_

"_Mary, how would you like to be decked in jewels, fine dresses, and exquisite wigs, all evolving at paces faster than the Queen of England herself?"_

"_Oh my!" Mary said, her other hand also clasping her heart, lying on top of the first hand. "Oh, Mr. Iverson, I would like that very, very much! Oh, words cannot express! Oh!"_

"_There, girl, do calm yourself!" Iverson chuckled. "For, I bring you great news."_

_Mary bounced on the balls of her feet, acting her young age of fourteen as opposed to the stifled, mature eighteen year old she tried to act like. "Mr. Iverson, please, do not hold secrets! I don't think my poor heart can take it!"_

"_Very well, we'd hate for your heart to give out, wouldn't we?" Iverson chuckled, waving in a group of men as they walked through the open door._

_The three men, all exquisitely dressed in fashion-forward breeches and tailcoats, embroidered white top hats tilted upon their wigged heads, rested six boxes of different colors and sizes on the dining room table. _

"_Mr. Iverson, what are you doing?" Mary squealed, eyeing the fancy paper and ribbons on smaller packages around the boxes._

"_Well," Mr. Iverson clasped his hands and turned to face Mary. "I'll have the rest of my life to spoil Margaret, so why not give you a chance to be spoiled?"_

"_Yes, why not?" Mary asked, eyeing him with great interest. What a smart match this was for Margaret!_

"_Well, I've gotten you these gifts, after all, your family will be taken very, very well taken care of after the ceremony." Iverson said. He ran a pale hand over the packages, and picked up the smallest of the parcels. "We'll start off easy." He said, passing it to Mary._

_She squealed and ripped it open, the thick paper resting at her feet. In her hands she held a black silk choker, a pearl dangling off of it. She clipped it on her neck, admiring how nice the cool black silk felt against her neck. _

"_Have another!" Iverson said merrily, snapping his wrist to send off the men, who did as were commanded. He picked up the second parcel, a bit larger, and passed it to Mary._

_Mary ripped this one open as well, revealing a small knit bag, different shades of pink and purple, with ruffles along the top._

_Iverson passed her the last of the parcels, and Mary used her fingernail to slit the paper down the middle. There in her hands laid two shoes, black silk, with red flowers embroidered in them, silver threads catching the light._

"_They're beautiful…" she cooed, running her index finger along the wooden sole._

"_It was nothing." Iverson stated. "But my dear, we have plenty more to go! Here, take the largest one. I shall not keep you waiting!" he said, passing an awkwardly large purple box to an eager Mary._

_Ignoring her usual pretention, she sank down to the floor to lift the lid, revealing a dress. It was exactly her style. She pulled it out of the box and pressed it to her chest, spinning it around. The lime green fabric was a slap of color that lasted through the whole dress, not even interrupted by a stomacher. Ruffles composed the full skirt, the bottom trimmed with white lace._

"_Oh, Mr. Iverson!" Mary smiled, sinking back down to the floor to fold the dress back into the box. "I love it so!"_

"_Good my dear, that's just what I wanted to hear." Iverson smirked. He passed two boxes to Mary, to speed the process along._

_The boxes revealed to be two large fluffy hats, covered in ribbon and fake roses, all of different sizes and colors. Mary loved them._

_Three boxes left, all piled in Mary's arms. They all turned out to be fluffy, hideous dresses. All of which Mary equally loved.'_

_The first dress was a dark blue, almost back. The skirt came in a few inches above the ankles, giving the impression Mary was a very fat midnight blue mermaid. The dress was filled with tulle, allowing it to hold its shape. _

_The second dress was some sort of hideous burnt orange, and while the dress pattern was relatively simple and normal, the color was almost offensive._

_The third dress was an oatmeal colored white, with random gatherings in the skirt, giving the impression of lumps. The bodice of the dress was tight at the neck, with a free fall to her waist, waving and blowing about._

"_Oh, Mr. Iverson!" Mary exclaimed again, once again clutching the dress to her straight form. "I love everything! Oh thank you, thank you so!"_

"_And think," Iverson smirked. "Once I marry Margaret, you'll get this type of treatment every day! Her marriage to anyone else would not result in that." He clasped one of her hands in two of his. "What luck, is it not, that she'll be marrying me!"_

"_Oh, yes!" Mary eagerly exclaimed, bouncing a little on the backs of her feet._

"_Of course," Iverson smiled. "Margaret will not exactly be shortchanged in the deal either!" Iverson laughed. "She shall be spoiled, far beyond even what you will be!"_

_Mary smiled, looking at the gifts at her feet. "I believe it!" she said. "If you do not mind me saying, you are a rather wealthy man."_

"_Oh, I don't mind at all!" Iverson smiled, adjusting his necktie. "Your statement could not have been more accurate!" he boasted, smirking down at her._

_Mary smiled up at him, her heart hammering hard in her chest. She put a hand to her neck, feeling the cool silk ribbon against her skin. "I can't wait for you to join our family." She said, smiling up at him._

"_Neither can I." Iverson said looking behind him, as if someone was listening in._

...

"Isn't the manor that way?" Margaret asked, her brow furrowed, jabbing her thumb backwards.

"Well, yes, but you're meeting up with Iverson!" Mary said, folding her hands in her lap. "We have to drop you off."

"What?" Margaret screeched. "Since when? How come no one told me?"

"The topic was recently brought up." Mary stated simply, playing with the pearl on her black choker. "We figured you had assumed anyway."

"No!" Margaret said. "And why didn't he just pick me up then?"

"Because he's a very rich and powerful man who cannot be bothered to go out of his way when at all possible!" Mary insisted, as if this was a normal and acceptable way for a man to behave towards his fiancé.

Margaret huffed and leaned her head against the frosted window, just trying to ignore Mary; ignore her life! She wondered how much different this experience would be of only Alexander was escorting her to the ball. Ah, Alexander. Their time would come, their time would come. And if all went smoothly, it would come tonight.

"Ah, here we are!" Mary cooed, bouncing a little in her seat. Her hair, piled high in a fluff of curls, hit the top of the carriage, as her dress took up most of the seat, spilling onto Margaret's lap in a plethora of ruffles.

"Great." Margaret stated, furrowing her brow. She dug her hands under Mary's skirt, searching. "Where's my purse?" she asked. It contained her engagement ring and going to his house without the ring on her finger would be dangerous, dangerous indeed.

"Right here, Margaret!" Mary said a bit too cheerfully, pulling it out next to her.

Not in the mood to press questions, Margaret thanked Mary and exited the carriage, walking up the stone path to Iverson's house. Before knocking on his door, she stood on the porch, rooting through her bag for the ring.

But she stumbled upon something else first. It was a small scroll of parchment. Margaret unfurled it, her demeanor clouding as she recognized Mary's light, slanted, dancing script.

_Remember your family, Margaret. I know this is a big night for you, and I want you to actually take time to think about what is important, before you do anything rash. Think of Father, Mother. You wouldn't put yourself ahead of your family, would you?_

Margaret crumpled the note and stuffed it in the bottom of her purse. Curses! Mary just kept pushing and pushing, didn't she? She couldn't give up on her and Alexander, not when they were on speaking terms, not when they were so happy, so in love!

But she couldn't hurt her family either. Mary was right, marrying Iverson would make life in general easier for their family! They would always have plenty of money, and never have to worry about financial matters again. Father could probably retire, or pass the shop onto the apprentice. Was choosing to marry Alexander choosing him…over her family? She couldn't do that.

She sighed and stuck her hand in her purse again, digging around for her engagement ring. She found it, and slipped it onto her middle finger. She took one last gaze at her hand, before reaching forward and knocking on the door. She felt as if she was summoning the devil.

Iverson threw open the door, sober, for once. It seemed that it was not alcohol that influenced his fashion, but his own choices. He wore a light purple ruffled shirt, and a double-breasted jacket, embroidered with flowers, all the way down to the floor-length tails. His breeches were skin tight, clinging to his skinny legs. Ribbon ruffled around the edges of the breeches falling to the middle of his calves. His socks had light purple ribbon woven through it, with lace wrapping around the ankle. His shoes had higher heels, and were embroidered to match the jacket and breeches. Iverson wore little white gloves, with lace cuffs.

His hair was piled higher than Mary! It was a wig, obviously, excessively powered until it was as white as a cloud. His wig was filled with tiny pin curls, piled as high as two feet above his head! A purple ribbon cinched his curls, sending some of them spilling over the ribbon. A lace miniature top hat rested atop of his curls. Margaret cringed.

"Are you ready to be off, darling?" Iverson said, rummaging through his little sack. He pulled it shut, and looked up. "Dear GOD!" he shouted, clutching at his chest. "Margaret Davidson, what on earth did you do to your hair?" he yelled.

Margaret smirked. "I cut it." She said, her voice hinting at fake innocence.

"Why!" Iverson said, flabbergasted. "It looks awful!"

Margaret touched one of her chin, length pin curls. "I rather like it." She smiled, tilting her head, fluffing her hair.

"Well you should've kept it the way it was." Iverson snapped. "Well, no point of going over it now. To the carriage!"

He stepped into the carriage and Margaret followed behind him. He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands on top of his small belly. "Margaret," he asked. "May I have my ring? I need it to propose again." He said clearing his throat.

"Sure, sure." She said quickly, practically flinging the ring at him.

"I also bring great news!" Iverson smiled, admiring the ring in the sunlight. "I have decided on our place of honeymoon!" he smiled, tucking the ring into a small breast pocket on his jacket.

"What?" Margaret jerked forward as if to spit out her drink, though she was drinking nothing. She had no part in this decision! "Since when was this decided?" she demanded, clenching the seat, her fingernails digging into the fine silk material.

"Margaret!" Iverson snapped. "Do calm yourself! Now, as husband, I am privy to making such decisions!"

"_Husband_?" Margaret snapped. "You're not my husband!"

"Oh, Margaret, we're practically married already!" Iverson reasoned, leaning against the armrest.

"No, no, we're not." Margaret said through gritted teeth.

"We will be, soon enough." Iverson shrugged, picking a hair off of his jacket. "Engaged tonight, married in, what, a month? Then together forever." He smiled and looked out the window.

Margaret breathed heavier. There was no way she could marry him. Her family was important to her, yes, but she could not marry this man! This arrogant, selfish…ugh! She crossed her arms and leaned against the window, squishing her curls, but glaring so hard that the frost practically melted off the window.

The rest of the carriage ride was uncomfortably silent, with Margaret refusing to move, despite Iverson's glares and meaningful looks to try and start a conversation. They pulled up to the large manor home, which was decorated festively with ribbons and candles, the windows glowing but trimmed with frost.

Iverson stepped out of the carriage and closed the door behind him, forcing Margaret to open the door again and help herself out. They walked to the manor, Margaret lagging a few steps behind her fiancé. The doors were opened by two well-dressed men, with towering powdered wigs and nice jackets. And in one split second, Margaret stepped into the ballroom in which her life would be forever changed.

…

Charlotte's up-do shined in the candlelight, but her bright green eyes naturally flickered with mischief. She stuck the tip of her tongue into her cheek, and played with a loose curl hanging by her ear. She scanned the room once more, making sure that no one she specifically knew was watching her, she slipped out of the corner of the room and onto the balcony.

The balcony was ground-level, only a few feet up off the ground. Charlotte leaned forward, resting her elbows on the smooth marble banister.

"Are you there?" she whispered.

"Aye" a muffled voice said. The below rosebushes rustled, and a person emerged.

Charlotte clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. "You actually hid in the bushes? I thought you'd just sneak over."

"Well," Ross said, leaning on the banister. "Technically, I did sneak over. I just then proceeded to wait in the bushes, and make absolutely no noise until you came."

"Well, come up!" Charlotte said, reaching a hand down.

"I got it." He assured her, resting a foot on the bottom of the banister and hoisting himself over. He brushed dirt off his breeches, and stood up straighter, making the contrast between Charlotte's 5'6'' form with his 6' self, more definite.

"Should we go in?" he asked, offering his arm.

"Well it'd be odd to stay out here!" Charlotte laughed, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm.

"Okay, then!" Ross smiled and led them both into the ballroom.

They walked into the middle of the room, with Charlotte taking one of Ross' hands and beginning to lead them in the waltz. Once he got a bit more comfortable, Charlotte relaxed and let him lead, as she simply hummed to the music, and watched the couples around them.

Charlotte took a quick glance at him, as he was looking away, and smiled. She didn't know, when, how, but she knew. She exhaled and whispered, "Someday, you're going to marry me."

Ross did not respond directly, but whispered, so quietly, that even Charlotte, who was just a few inches away from him, could not here. He exhaled, the air taking the word "Yes" with it.

…

Mary tried her best to dance in the monstrosity that was her dress, but it was more difficult than she had anticipated. So she spent a lot of her evening going around the perimeter of the dance floor, desperately, and futilely trying to strike up a conversation.

Disgruntled, and furious with the snobbish guests, she stormed off in search of a powder room. Her hair needed fluffing. In search, she overheard a voice. A voice that sounded very much like that of Daniel, the governor's son. A man who was more powerful than even Mr. Iverson!

She forgot all about the powder room, as a much more interesting topic presented itself. He seemed to be in argument with a young girl, maybe a year or so older than herself.

She was beautiful, for certain, with ebony hair drawn up into a fanciful bun. She wore a golden dress, resting slightly, but tastefully, off her shoulders. A cream colored ribbon brought the bodice of the dress together, looping in and out, and ending with a bow.

She rapidly waved a fan, sniffling, as if trying not to cry.

"Please, we can figure out a way around this!" Daniel said, and he seemed quite close to tears himself.

"I wish we could." The woman exhaled shakily. "But it's not my choice to decide. My parents were quite clear."

"Did I do something wrong? Something to offend them? Is it just politics?" Daniel asked, reaching his hands out in a pleading fashion.

"Believe me." The girl exhaled, fanning herself more rapidly. "I've tried. There's nothing wrong with you, it seems, but they just, as heartless as it seems, found, in their opinion, a better match."

"Please…" Daniel whispered, dipping his head.

"I'm…so….so, so, so, sorry." The woman whispered, turning around and running out the opposite door.

"Well that's just awful." Mary said leaning in next to Daniel, her hands placed on her hips.

"We're you just listening?" Daniel said in awe, looking around as if for an explanation.

Mary waved a hand dismissively. "That's such an awful thing to do! What a witch! Now," she said, quickly snapping her arms around his. "Now, tell me a bit about yourself."

"I don't think this is appropriate." Daniel said, trying to break free of Mary's death grip.

"Oh course it is. Tell me, do you paint?"

"Yes, but young lady, we should probably head back to the ball, I told you…this isn't appropriate!" Daniel said, dragging Mary over to the doorway.

"Would you like to dance?" Mary smiled like a horse and batted her eyelashes.

"No!" Daniel said. Noticing the pure hurt in Mary's eyes, he replied. "Well, maybe one dance…"

Mary smiled again. "One dance, the first dance of our future!"


	16. Breakups

"Charlotte! There you are!" Margaret wiggled her way through the crowd, grabbing the wrist of her best friend.

"Oh, hello Margaret!" Charlotte looked around and lowered her voice. "Is Alexander here?"

"That's what I need your help with! We didn't have this planned out very well, did we? How can I sneak him in? Without looking like I'm sneaking him in, I mean." She sighed.

"Oh yes, I can sneak him in." Charlotte smiled. "Just like I snuck Ross in."

Margaret scrunched her eyebrows together. "Why'd you sneak Ross in? He's your escort, he's allowed to be here…"

"I know, but it's more fun being sneaky - even if it's unnecessarily so." Charlotte said, nonchalantly walking across the dance floor, attracting no unusual looks.

Margaret followed suit, and both girls quietly slipped out onto the balcony.

Margaret leaned slightly over the balcony and whispered, "Alexander? Alexander? Where are you?"

"Right here." He stuck his foot in the balcony and hoisted himself over the balcony. "Miss me?" he smirked.

"Yes." She agreed, walking towards him as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her.

"I think Ross is looking for me." Charlotte said quickly, walking out the doors and back into the ballroom.

"I like her." Margaret remarked, taking a minute to look where her best friend had been.

"Yeah, she's nice." Alexander said, still hugging Margaret.

"We have to get inside." Margaret mumbled into his chest. "We'll be missed. I can hear the dance is ending. Iverson is going to want to…we should go."

"Okay." Alexander agreed, taking her hand and walking inside. He turned his head and asked, "Would you mind if I danced with Charlotte? Everyone's dancing, and I don't want to stand out to the point where I get kicked out."

"Sure, sure. Go, Iverson is coming!" Margaret said, quickly turning her back to Iverson and rushing into the crowd.

"Margie!"

Margaret cringed at the familiar voice piercing through the air, swirling about her ears in some sort of twisted drawl. "Hello, Iverson." She stated, stepping away from him, subtlety, so he couldn't object.

"Come, come, come…come. I'm going to … propose soon. We should dance first." He gave her a wide smile, revealing two crooked rows of yellow teeth.

Margaret scrunched up her nose. "You've been drinking." She stated, craning her neck back and biting her tongue at the unsavory aroma.

"Well it's a big night! You must entitle me to one drink! Or two. Or four." He laughed and grabbed her wrist rather firmly, dragging her to the middle of the dance floor.

He stood her still, which she did not object to, for she had no desire to move. He clamped one hand on her waist, and draped one of hers around her neck. This she did object to, so she backed up a little and let one hand slide off.

"Are you tired?" Iverson scrunched up his face. "Wake up, it's barely past nine 'o' clock!"

"No, no, I just don't feel much like dancing" Margaret said. This was semi-true, for she did not feel like dancing…with Iverson.

"Well as my future wife you must learn to like dancing! It's part of social functions and such. Life is not just new dresses and cider by the fireplace, Margaret. Not when you're my wife" Iverson snapped.

"Believe me, I understand that." Margaret said softly.

She was still turned away from Iverson, but still he managed to coax her arm around his neck, and was able to take her other hand. She dug her heels in as well as she could, but he still dragged her closer to himself.

"It's a simple waltz." Iverson stated. "Even you shouldn't screw it up."

Now Margaret was actually an exceptional dancer, and could waltz before she could walk, practically. Iverson's awkward steps caught the hem of her skirt, bumped her into others, and his drunkenness did not help the situation.

Nevertheless, every time a step went wrong, which was quite often, Iverson would hiss 'pick up your feet girl!', Margaret would sigh, and the dance would resume.

A minute or two into the waltz, Margaret grew tired of listening to her soon-to-be husband and began scanning the room for her friends. Eventually she spotted Charlotte and Alexander spinning some crazy dance on the outskirts of the dance floor.

Charlotte's dress spun around her as Alexander twirled her around and around and around. Ross stood a safe distance away, laughing in a way that showed he was not jealous in the slightest of his girl dancing with someone else, even if it was a particularity gorgeous man. Eventually Charlotte got dizzy and broke away from Alexander, and stumbled back into Ross, laughing.

Margaret laughed a little and sighed, a smile still on her face. That is, until Iverson's harsh, drunk voice jolted her back into reality.

"Margaret!" he hissed, baring his yellow teeth like some sort of wild dog. "Pay attention to me! Pay attention to the dance! Your lack of coordination caused me to step on your dress again! Is that what you want?"

"No…" she sighed, looking down and trying to take a step back. He was going to leave a print on Charlotte's masterpiece of a dress at this rate.

Finally, the song ended. Exhaling dramatically, Margaret took several steps away from Iverson, quickly dropping her hands as if having to touch him was as comfortable as trying to touch a roaring fire.

"Where are you going? It's almost time!" Iverson barked, squinting his eyes as his bride to be.

"I know!" Margaret said, but she picked up her skirt a little and walked away faster, smiling at the simple fact that there was more physical space in between them. She barely got off the dance floor, when she was grabbed by Mary. It was amazing, it's impossible to miss her, with that dress, but she still was able to sneak up on Margaret.

"Come here!" she hissed, dragging her sister into an empty room.

Margaret took a quick look around the room, in hopes she could decipher her sister's purpose from understanding where she was now standing. But it was just a basic room, with simple gold wallpaper and light purple curtains. A few chairs were gathered around a roaring fireplace, and an empty floor took up most of the room, with a small cabinet off to the side, filled with many different types of liquor.

"Mary, what do you want?" Margaret said, folding her arms and tilting her hip. She raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips and gave Mary the classic 'speak, now' expression.

Mary bit her lip nervously and rubbed the large pearl on her choker. "Mr. Iverson has not proposed yet, has he?"

"I'm pretty sure you would have noticed if he had." Margaret rolled her eyes and laughed without humor. "I'm sure he'll only be able to do it with a big crowd around him, giving attention."

"Margaret, why are you so hard on him?" Mary snapped. "You never even gave Mr. Iverson a chance! From day one, you decided the whole idea was horrible! After everything he's given you, the patience and kindness he's shown towards you! He's never wronged you Margaret!"

"Ha!" Margaret laughed dryly, thinking of everything Mary did not know. But she couldn't tell her, not now. Not when everything was so close to going right. So instead she snapped. "Well if he's so great, why don't _you_ marry him?"

"I would if I could!" Mary yelled, then promptly clamped a hand over her mouth and turned red.

"What did you say?" Margaret said, close to laughing from the idea of Mary and Iverson, but also in shock.

"Nothing." Mary said hurriedly. "Either way, that's not why I brought you in here. I have a reminder for you." She said, all the blush not yet faded from her cheeks.

Margaret decided not to push the issue and merely said. "Oh, thank the Lord." She said, exaggerating her words. "I finally get to know what's on the mind of the great Mary Davidson."

"Margaret, I'm being serious here!"

"I know, that's all you ever are. Well, that and whiny."

"_Stop_ _it_, _Margaret_!"

"See? Whiny."

"Fine!" Mary snapped, whirling around. "Leave! Go ruin your life, see if I care! Go destroy your family!"

"Thank you." Margaret huffed and left the room, giggling a little under her breath. _Mary_ _liked_ _Iverson_?

She instantly scanned the room for her friends, and rushed over to them, picking up her skirts so she was able to go faster.

"Margaret!" Charlotte smiled, breaking away from Ross (he looked crestfallen) to go hug her friend. "There you are, I've barely gotten to see you tonight!"

"Hello, Margaret!" Ross said softly.

"Hi, Ross. Is Charlotte being nice?" Margaret smiled.

"I'm always nice!"

"Yes, she's always wonderful." Ross smiled, blushing a little.

"So, tell us why you had to go with Iverson. It was so stupid really. We would have all gotten to the same place." Charlotte walked over to a clump of nearby couches and sat down. Ross and Alexander followed, Ross taking the seat right next to Charlotte and Alexander taking an open couch.

Margaret sat down next to Alexander. "I don't really know. I think it gave him more time to insult me."

"What'd he say?" Alexander asked menacingly.

…

"Oh father, don't let this happen!" Daniel's fists were clenched at his sides, his sandy blond hair falling out of his queue, framing his face in a cutely disheveled way, Mary noted.

"Daniel, I have no choice!" Mr. Richardson said, resting his hands on his well-dressed portly stomach. "She's already engaged to him! I would have put a stop to it if I had any warning, but I found out when you did!"

"But she engaged to me first!" Daniel said, his cheeks flushing. "Father, you know I was against the whole arrangement from the start, but my feelings have…changed, to say to least. I love her now, and I want to be with her!"

"It hurts me to see you like this, son." Mr. Richardson said. He truly meant his words, it showed in his eyes. "But I have no power. Marie is to venture to France in weeks, it's been decided."

In the least opportune moment, Marie's father, Mr. Parks strutted into the room.

"Ah, hello Richardson!" he said beaming. "Delightful ball, the best so far I should say!"

"YOU!" Daniel roared, taking long strides over to the man. "What have you done?"

"What on earth are you talking about, boy?" Mr. Parks stared into Daniel's eyes; the two men were so close they were almost pressed face to face.

"Your daughter! Marie! What is this blasted arrangement, shipping her off to France so she can marry some son of a-"

"Watch your tongue!" Mr. Parks snapped. "You're talking about my daughter and her _fiancé_!"

"_I'm_ her fiancé, not-" Daniel began but was interrupted by Marie, as she rushed into the room, picking her skirts up.

"There you are father! We need to talk!" she yelled, standing right by her father, panting, out of breath, she said. "I can't believe you made me do that! I didn't want to break anything up with Daniel! You know I wasn't too excited about to idea when you set up the arrangement, but I grew to love him father! And you are willing to take that away from me? I don't want to go to France! I like it here!" she slipped her arm through Daniel's, as he smiled down at her. She smiled back at him and then gave her father a curt nod, practically daring him to try and disagree with her.

"Darling, darling!" Mr. Parks said. "You're young, you don't know what's best for you, I do! And while Daniel was a fine man, he's not the best you can do! You're beautiful, and that's why you're going to be married to Mr. Paris!"

"I don't care!" she insisted. "Father, don't do this! Write him, say I'm not coming! You didn't even consult me about this, and-"

"You're a minor, a woman, and my daughter!" Mr. Parks snapped. "I don't need to _consult_ you. I make the decisions, and you're marrying the man I say you are."

"Now sir, I believe you're being unreasonable." Mr. Richardson said, stepping again into the conversation. "The children seem quite fond of each other, and were preciously engaged. I think it would be foolish to end what they have here; it's so rare, so precious."

"Now, I know what's best for my daughter, and I know that while that engagement was fine and all, it is obviously not the best she could do. France is more powerful than any American country!"

"Perhaps, but the children have each found love here, with each other." Mr. Richardson, struggling, but nevertheless succeeding, to maintain his calm demeanor.

"Father, please, reconsider." Marie whispered, clenching tighter to Daniel.

"Now, now, Marie is almost seventeen years old! It's time for her to settle down, start a family!" Mr. Parks said again, holding his hands out in a reasoning way.

"She can be married tomorrow." Daniel said firmly. "As long as it's too me."

…

The music struck up in a sharp, hopeful way. Couples seemed to instantly perk up, and drew each other closer, twirling in a lighthearted, free spirited way.

"Care to dance?"

Charlotte looked up. Who was possibly asking her to dance? Ross was right next to her!

And as was to be obviously inferred, it was not Ross. Instead, it was a handsome (hey, she wasn't going to lie here) young man, about her age. He smiled at her with a row of perfect teeth, and light pink lips. He had light blond hair and brown eyes, with fair skin.

Charlotte looked over and Ross. "Would you mind?" she asked, but Ross didn't reply, for he was deep in conversation with Alexander. She looked back at the man. "I guess I'll take that as a yes."

The man smiled and took her hand, leader her out to the middle of the dance floor. He put a hand to her waist and grabbed her other hand.

"I'm a little embarrassed, I must admit." He said, leading us backwards.

"What do you mean?" I responded.

"Well, I didn't know you had come here with a date. I wouldn't have asked you if I knew you had. Of course, how could I resist?" I laughed a little and he spun us again. "But how could I think a beautiful girl like you wouldn't have a date? I was stupid really?"

I smiled up at him. He had really beautiful eyes. "So I take it you did not come with a date, then?"

"No, I'm the nephew of the host." He shrugged. "I've had to come every single year that they've been hosting this. Though I must say, this is the most fun I've had in nineteen years of attendance!"

"You're nineteen?" Charlotte gulped. She was only sixteen! While such an age difference was common, she still felt a bit uncomfortable.

"Well, yes, how old are you?"

"Sixteen…" Charlotte mumbled, her mind still focused on the age difference.

"Ah, where are my manners, what's your name?" he smiled down at her, flipping his hair out of his eyes so he didn't have to remove his hand from Charlotte's.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Charlotte." She smiled back up at him, forgetting about the age difference again. Oh, his eyes…

"I'm Jon." He smiled again, drawing her a little closer.

"And I'm Ross." A sarcastically sweet voice interrupted, standing next to me and Jon. "Mind if I cut in?" Without waiting for an answer, he said. "Of course you don't. Say goodbye to your friend, Charlotte."

Jon scrunched his eyebrows together as I was taken from his arms. Ross gripped my hand tighter than usual and led me off the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking me out to the front porch, away from the dancing couples, and away from Jon.

"I was dancing. What, is that a sin now?"

"No, dancing is fine – when you dance with Margaret, or your other friends, or me." He snapped, leaning on the banister.

"Well, _excuse_ me!" Charlotte retorted. "I forgot I was supposed to do everything you say."

"No, that's not what I meant." Ross softened. "I just thought we were courting, so…"

"We're not courting!" Charlotte said.

"You kissed me." Ross said, pointing a finger at her.

"So?" Charlotte snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

"Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Yes, it means something. It means I _used_ to _like_ you."

"Wait, what do you mean 'used to'"

"It's a simple phrase, it means I did but not anymore."

"What's your problem?" Ross yelled.

"I don't like being controlled." Charlotte barked, walking off the porch and slamming the door behind her.

**Aw, snap! What's Charlotte doing? Is Ross being controlling? Is she being unreasonable? Will they make up or break up? Are you reading this in the voice of a television announcer? **

**Review! :D**


	17. Choose

**I seriously love you guys. More than life itself. You didn't abandon me, and I love you for it. I'm SO SO SO sorry I haven't updated, but I have good reasons. First, my computer broke. The power supply wasn't working, and it wouldn't hold a charge or turn on after a while. After I got that fixed, I started writing but we had some health issues in the family – cancer and an emergency brain surgery. Still, I haven't updated in an inexcusably long time, and please forgive me. This is a shorter chapter, I know, but I just wanted to give you something so you know I'm still alive and whatnot. But thank your for reading, and if you review…I love you even more. **

Humph. She'd show him! Charlotte walked quickly across the dance floor, flipping her head back and forth in order to quickly scan the crowds, hoping to find Jon. Luck must have been with her that night, for he stood over by the piano, talking to a man much older than he. Charlotte looked to the side, catching her reflection in the glass door of a large cabinet. Happy to notice that her hair looked fine, and her dress had not been mussed, she continued walking towards him, at a faster pace, while running her hand along her bangs to flatten them.

She caught the end of Jon's sentence "- well, I guess so, Derek. But I honestly think he was being unreasonable."

"Jon!" Charlotte said, then clamping her hand over her mouth. That was rather loud. "Sorry," she said softer. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

The man Jon was talking to, who was named Derek apparently, looked over at her. "Oh, _now_ I understand. Good night, Jon."

Derek walked away, but Jon didn't reply. Instead, he turned to Charlotte. "Charlotte! Whatever happened?" he asked, nervously looking over at Ross, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed, scowl plastered across his face.

Charlotte smiled a little, her fiery mean streak igniting, yearning for vengeance as ammunition. But still, she smiled sweetly and took a step closer to Jon. "Sorry I left so suddenly." She said innocently. "It was not voluntary, I assure you."

Jon gave her a crooked smiled and replied "I could tell." He cleared his throat. "Are you okay? He was not rough with you, was he?"

"Just some yelling." Charlotte said bitterly. "He'd never hit me, no, he's too…he loves…" she trailed off a bit, but snapped her head back into the conversation. "He didn't physically hurt me. I just don't like being controlled."

"Simple enough!" Jon smiled, offering his arm. "And quite fair, I may add. May I escort you around the grounds? I would so like to get away from the music."

Charlotte crinkled her nose and furrowed her brow. "You – you don't like dancing?"

"Quite the opposite my dear!" Jon laughed. "But a long night of dancing has left me tired and a bit winded, and I'd really like to regain my breath while walking with a pretty lady."

Charlotte smiled. "Fair enough!" she said, slipping her arm through his and pulling herself closer to him.

The two walked across the floor, passing by Ross. He kept a straight face while they were within eyesight, but as soon as Charlotte left, his face fell, and he bit his lip, as if he was going to cry.

"Now, what would you like to talk about?" Jon asked, squeezing Charlotte's arm.

Charlotte quickly gasped, her free hand flying to cover her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Jon asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Margaret! Iverson – propose! We need to get inside! Now! I have to help!" she said, breaking free of Jon's arm and sprinting inside, picking up her skirts in the process.

…

"Atten-shun, Atten-shun!" Iverson shouted, clapping his hands. His voice was slurred, but he enunciated relatively well for a man who had consumed the amount of alcohol he had.

The music had stopped earlier, Iverson had previously told them to, and people looked around, perplexed at what could possibly be happening. Iverson clapped his hands again, and people tuned to look at him, forming a sort of circle. They mumbled amongst themselves, ladies whispering to each other behind white gloved hands.

"I have," Iverson paused, holding both hands up, palms out, and pausing to create drama. He exhaled, and tilted his pointed chin up, his face emotionless. "An announcement."

Margaret rolled her eyes and looked behind her, raising an eyebrow as she saw Charlotte sprinting into the room, Jon right behind her. Charlotte paused to take her breath, and then waited for Jon to catch up with her. The pair quickly joined the group. Margaret gave them a nervous smile, and Charlotte mouthed 'don't give in, Margaret!'.

"Margaret, my dove, please join me." Iverson said, extending a thin arm. Margaret stepped into the circle, nervously looking around her. Iverson got down on one knee and the people around them gasped, girls squealed.

Iverson pause to fluff up his hair, fixing the ribbon tied around it. He smirked up at Margaret and pulled out a small box. "Margaret, uh, Davidson." He stated, unsure of her middle name, he just skipped over it. "Will you marry me?"

Before this moment, Margaret had every intention of saying 'no' to Iverson. The man was awful, and marrying this man was unacceptable. But what Mary had been saying kept repeating in her mind, and Margaret began to feel selfish. If she married this man, if she married Iverson, her father would never have to work another day. Mother could have whatever she pleased, and Mary could as well. Father could sell to store to someone, or even give it to Ben. Yes, he could give it to Ben! Ben could move back home, and bring Felicity too! Then the family would be so close to her, and she'd hardly have to ever be around Iverson, for she'd always be around Ben! And it's not as if she wouldn't benefit as well. She'd live in a large house, with dozens of servants doing as she wished. She'd have the finest clothes, jewels, and food.

The group began to titter, and Iverson's smirk turned into a glare as Margaret continued to pause.

But, she just couldn't make to word 'yes' form in her throat. She still hated the man, and she couldn't pledge her life to him, or even entertain the idea, without her heart dropping into her stomach with dread. And then she looked over, and saw Alexander. Worry clouded his face as he made eye contact with Margaret. He didn't seem to know what was happening.

Margaret put her hand to her forehead. The room seemed to spin, and she broke out in a cold sweat. She didn't want to be selfish enough to put herself before her family, but she couldn't sacrifice herself, everything she had ever wanted, for what seemed like mere material desires!

She gulped, and chose.

…

She had been standing there a long time. Too long of a time. Alexander thought to himself as he was rooted to the spot, a thousand thoughts, all similar, flying through his head every minute. Why hadn't she said anything? She wasn't considering saying yes to Iverson, was she? No, of course she wasn't! She loved _him_!

But then why hadn't she said 'no' yet?

Alexander shifted his vision and made eye contact with Margaret, hoping his pleading eyes would communicate his message better than his words could at this point.

_Say something! Say no!_

Alexander watched as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, as if she was actually weighing her options! There were no options, she had to say no! How could she even consider throwing her life away, tying herself down to the most awful man who had ever crawled across the face of this earth.

Alexander began to panic, and swallowed quickly. She couldn't marry Iverson. Even if it meant marrying someone else. Margaret was too good for him, and he knew it. She could marry anyone, _anyone_, as long as it wasn't Iverson.

He looked back over at her, making eye contact again. He nodded to her, and she made no gesture, only returned her gaze to Iverson.

She opened her mouth and mumbled "I – I can't."

"What do you mean?" Iverson snapped. "Of course you can! Just say yes, stupid!"

"No!" Margaret yelled, the word echoing around the silent marble room. She stood up straighter, and Iverson just stared at her. "I can't marry you! I won't!" she yelled.

"Stop it, Margaret!" Iverson hissed.

"You're horrible" she said, taking a step towards him. "I could never be your bride." She turned on her heel and pushed through the crowd, crashing into Alexander as he met her with an embrace.

She looked up at him and whispered one word, "Run."

And they did.


	18. Twisted

**Ok, how about this updating? Didn't take two months this time! :D Reviews?**

"Yes, yes!" Charlotte clapped her hands rapidly and bounced on her heels. "Run, Margaret!"

"How lovely! I'm glad the man was finally denied something." Jon looked down to Charlotte, smiling at her.

"Oh, you have no idea how happy I am!" Charlotte smiled, laying a hand atop her chest, right over her heart. "When she was hesitating, I got so scared! I thought that maybe she was going to say yes. Her sister, Mary, is a little bit of a snot. She kept trying to convince her to marry Iverson – and just so she could get everything she wanted without lifting a finger or batting an eyelash. I mean-"

"My dear, my dear!" Jon said, slipping his arm around her shoulder. "Why don't we walk out in the gardens, as we had previously planned, and you can tell me all about it!"

Charlotte smiled up at his and allowed herself to be led outside, tipping her nose up as she passed by Ross. But part of her wished she could go back and talk to him. But no, not until he apologized. She wouldn't let herself get pushed around like that, she couldn't let herself get pushed around like that.

"The hedges are so beautiful, aren't they?" Jon commented, pointing to the perfectly trimmed hedges. "You know, they have two dozen gardeners just to make sure they stay that way."

"Two dozen? That seems a little extreme, don't you think?" Charlotte remarked, trying to balance her desire to walk without tripping with her desire to be as close to Jon as possible.

"Well when you have a lot of money, and nothing to spend it on, you tend to try to make your life as lavish as possible." Jon explained.

Charlotte shrugged. "I guess." She admitted.

"My house is nothing like this manor." Jon chuckled to himself. "It's a relatively simple house, not too large. Not to small either, mind you, there's plenty of room for me, and if I get lucky enough, one day, a family."

"You don't have a family?" Charlotte asked. Of course, she instantly mentally slapped herself for being so foolish! Of course he didn't have a family, he was flirting with her, wasn't he?

"No, no." he drew her closer to him. "but I need a pretty girl before I can have that, correct?"

Charlotte immediately felt awkward, but she just agreed. "Yeah, I suppose so." She nervously laughed.

"But I enjoy decorating my house. I know, I know it's a bit odd for a man, but I enjoy moving the furniture around, and I rearrange my bedroom every two months." He smiled, looking as if he was thinking fondly.

"Oh, we don't re-arrange my house that much," Charlotte shrugged. "But I move my furniture around a lot. At least, the furniture in my room. My mother doesn't let me touch the furniture downstairs." She smiled, remembering the time she moved all of the furniture in her mother's newly cleaned room. Boy, was her mother ever mad!

"Would you like to see it?" Jon asked, waking Charlotte from her reverie.

"What?" she said densely.

He laughed and responded. "Would you like to see my house?" He sat her down on a concrete bench, still holding her hand.

"Oh, uh," Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Is anyone, um, there?"

Jon laughed. "Not to worry, my dear! Of course there isn't!"

And that was exactly what Charlotte didn't want to happen. But still, she found herself saying "yeah, that sounds great."

"Excellent!" Jon smiled ear to ear, and grabbed Charlotte's hand, pulling her out of the gardens so quickly she hardly had time to catch a breath.

"Why are we going so quickly?" Charlotte said, a bit nervously, a bit excitedly.

"Because we can!" Jon smiled. Charlotte wondered if he could hear her heart from here – she certainly felt as if it was beating that loudly.

"Wait, Jon! Jon!" Charlotte slowed.

"No, come on! What's wrong?" Jon asked, slowing a little to let her catch up and the distance between them shorted.

"We can't just run to your house! How far is it?" Charlotte laughed, reason finally having a chance to catch up with her brain.

"Yes we can!" Jon said, pushing all reason aside once more. "My house is just around the corner! Here," he said, bringing her closer. "I'll carry you. Like a husband carries a bride over a threshold." With that, he swept her feet out from underneath her and hugged her to his chest. Almost instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her neck. "Come on, let's go." He whispered, as if there was possibly someone around to hear them. With the silence still echoing around them, he carried her off into the night.

They were silent as the approached his house, it only took about five minutes to get there. Charlotte kept looking at him, and wondering how she got so lucky. To find someone like him, and to stumble upon him at a ball! Of all the people in the town, it's amazing that she had never met him. He must have been a little bit of a recluse.

But he really did seem to be, well, perfect. He was gorgeous for one thing, that's how she noticed him in the first place. He had beautiful light blond hair, a small smattering of freckles across his pale nose, and soft, yet piercing, blue eyes. He was kind to her, seeming to notice her best features and traits in mere minutes. There was this spark, this chemistry that seemed to appear as soon as he first put his hand on her hip for the waltz.

"We're here!" he smiled excitedly, putting her down as soon as they passed over the doorway.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, putting both her hands on her cheeks, her mouth opening into a perfect 'o'. "It's so beautiful!"

And the house was! Fine furniture, seeming to belong in a castle, was artfully arranged around the house, lovely painted pictures hung from the wall, and fine little paraphernalia was littered about the house, resting on shelves and side tables.

Jon came from behind her and but his arms around her waist. "Do you want to see the upstairs?" he smiled, whispering into her ear.

Charlotte exhaled as his breath tickled the fine nerves of her ear. "S-sure." She said shakily, her nerves returning far before her sense was due to.

Smiling, he took her hand and led her upstairs. He pushed open the wooden door with his back. Charlotte looked around. The room was pretty, but not as beautiful as the downstairs. Probably because it was relatively empty, basic furniture well cleaned and neatly arranged. There was a little side table with an opened letter and the envelope on it, but that was the only real decoration.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Jon asked her, leaning in so close she could count the freckles on his nose. There were twenty-three.

"Yes." She breathed, bringing her face to his.

…

"Wake up!" Charlotte giggled, the sun peeking through a crack in the drawn curtains.

Jon sat up and yawned, stretching the muscles in his arms and abdominal. Charlotte smiled and then blushed a little, even though she'd seen them before. "What time is it?" Jon asked her, propping up a pillow and leaning back, putting one arm behind her head and another around Charlotte. Charlotte blushed again and pulled the sheet up around herself, leaning into him.

"It looks like it's about six." She said. "The sun just came up a while ago."

Jon looked over. "Oh, I didn't pull the curtains shut all the way. Sorry, Charlotte." He smiled at her. "How about we go back to sleep, then?" he yawned and tucked the blanket around Charlotte's shoulders, and then flipped over onto his stomach.

Charlotte smiled at him, and then leaned down and rested on her stomach. She reached her left hand out and felt around the table. "Where's my hair ribbon?" she said, sitting up again.

Instead, she grabbed the envelope. She picked up and looked at it for a second, and her eyes instantly filled with tears. Her body shook, as if she had been overcome with violent, shocking hiccups. Still, no sound came from her body.

Jon flipped over and sat up. "Charlotte?" he asked, eyebrows bunched together. "Charlotte, what's wrong?"

As if she was trying to control herself, although she knew she was past that point, she placed the envelope down on her lap, as it was inscribed;

_Mr. and Mrs. Jon Davidson_

"So." She said, her voice clearer than she thought it would be. She slowly turned her head to Jon, looking him straight in the eyes.

She exhaled sharply and said, "So. You're married."


	19. Iverson Loses and Takes

**Review, please :D They be encouraging.**

"Okay, okay!" Margaret slowed, and Alexander stopped, turning to face her. "I'm out of breath, and we're pretty far away." She said.

"I can still be the manor. Do you think it will explode when Iverson does?" Alexander said lightly, though it hit Margaret hard. Iverson _was_ going to be mad. And it's not as if he couldn't, well, have his revenge. But no matter, she was here, with Alexander, and she was finally _happy_. And that's what was important.

"Okay, I'm going to go around the side a little bit," Alexander said, pointing to the edge of the manor. "I want to see what's going on inside. Not because I'm looking for drama, mind you, but because I want to make sure people aren't coming after us with pitchforks after our little stunt."

Margaret flushed a little. "I probably could have done it with a bit more, well, subtlety." She laughed.

"Well, it's possible, but what are you going to do?" Alexander laughed. "The ends justify the means, I guess."

Margaret picked up her skirts and followed Alexander as he took his first steps towards the house.

"Hey, hey!" Alexander turned around at the sound of her footsteps. "Where do you think you're going?"

Margaret scrunched her eyebrows together and replied "I'm going with you!"

"No you're not!" Alexander said. "Margaret, you're safer here. The last think I want is for you to get hurt."

"No, Alexander, I'm coming with you!" Margaret stated firmly, picking up her skirts and walking over to stand by him.

Alexander opened his mouth as if to protest, but he regrettably said nothing, and allowed her to follow him back towards the manor.

The snuck down a thin path across the side of a manor. Forest was just half a foot away from the window, with random bits of bush and tree poking out, occasionally jabbing Margaret and Alexander in the back.

Alexander paused, and looked in the window, not sure if he should expect calm or chaos. He got both. Inside, the ball was calm. People seem confused, but any objections seemed to have died down. A few couples were dancing again, and many more seemed to be moving to do so.

"Good." Alexander smiled.

"What?"

Alexander didn't bother turning around, but responded "they don't seem to have gotten too stirred up."

"Were you that concerned? After all, it's just some pompous fool's engagement ball." A different voice uttered, and Alexander whipped around, looking Iverson straight in the eye.

Alexander looked around and yelled "Where's Margaret? What did you do to her?"

"Oh relax." Iverson chuckled. "She's used to being pushed around."

"What did you do with her?" Alexander asked, failing at his attempts to keep calm.

"Alas, your interrogation has worn me down." Iverson said sarcastically. "I pushed her into the woods. She'll probably be out in a minute."

Alexander gave Iverson a quick look, as if to see if he was telling the truth. But Alexander knew he wasn't going to get the information from Iverson, so he might as well go with the first clue he received. And after all, the forest was right next to him.

He turned around to run into the forest, and was too focused to see what Iverson took from him.

"Margaret!" he called out, pushing through leaves.

"Alexander!" Margaret responded, lying on the ground, clutching her ankle. "I would have come back, I can still see the light from the party, but I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts to stand."

"Here, I'll help you." Alexander said, slipping an arm around Margaret and pulling her to an upright position."

Alexander helped her hobble out of the forest, and back to the house. Iverson had gone, his business apparently finished. Though suspicious, Alexander shrugged and helped Margaret back to the waiting carriage.

"Is he returning home with you, ma'am?" A footman asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, do not think down on me!" Margaret laughed, settling down in her seat. Alexander sat next to her, and put his feet up on the seat across from him.

"Well, what do we do now?" Margaret asked.

"Whatever we want." Alexander shrugged. "There's no consequences until morning." 


	20. The Plan

**Sorry it took so long to update, please don't punch me. **

No one truly knows how long keys have been around, but the most educated of guessers tend to believe they were invented shortly after locks. Of the lock and key pair, the key is the simpler of the two, used as the object to unlock a ridiculously complicated and confusing invention: the lock. Metaphorically speaking, a key is usually a symbolic catalyst to the opening of emotions: love, jealously, hate, or greed. The key, though simpler, is usually viewed to be more important that the lock, for the complicated lock would not function without the simple key. An illogical comparison, for the relationship works both ways. Of course, the key does preform two functions, while a lock only preforms one. A lock does what it is built to do, while a key not only unlocks, but locks as well. Not many things operate at two extremes. An illogical comparison, for the relationship works both ways. So why, one might ask, would someone choose to take this simple thing? Well, that question has already been answered.

To lock, and to unlock.

…

Iverson had arrived home with such shame. Of all the ways to lose his fiancé, he had lost his in the most embarrassing way possible. In front of all his friends, at his own engagement ball. And as horrible as he felt, he couldn't find the willpower to go and mope, such as any reasonable man would do. Instead he drove himself to action, and formulated a plan as quickly as he could. Which, in this case, took minutes. He had to make sure this could be done by himself, for telling another soul would most likely result in failure.

So he got to working. After his little run-in with Alexander in the woods, he travelled on home without speaking a word, trying to keep whatever shreds of dignity and class he could. People talked, and people probably would talk for days. Normally, a social disaster such as this engagement ball would be gossiped about for weeks – months! But Iverson knew that another social blunder would be happening very, very soon.

And quickly! He hadn't much time to prepare, he knew Margaret, and she would move quickly to get what she wanted. Well, two could play at that game. And two would! So as soon as Iverson arrived home he placed the stolen key on his bedroom side table, and sat down at his desk, writing a long, tear-jerking letter. With that he sealed it in and envelope and wrote the recipient's name on it.

Then he began to plan a party. It may seem inappropriate, but he had plenty on invitation-sized paper left from wedding and engagement ball invitations. So he scribbled out some details, claiming the invitation was to celebrate spring, and making no mention whatsoever of recent social events. He left only the date and time blank. He stacked the letters up and placed them next to the envelope, signing and looking at the clock. Three hours had passed since he had come home, and it had hardly felt like ten minutes! Sighing with content, he decided that it was time to go to bed.

…

"And what on earth were you THINKING?" Mother yelled, clamping a hand to her forehead.

Despite Margaret's protests, Alexander and Margaret had returned home. Though he knew just as well as Margaret that her parents would be absolutely livid, they had to face the consequences of what they did.

"I was thinking that I HATED him!" Margaret screamed back, her cheeks flushed and her fists clenched. "He's a terrible, TERRIBLE man! He beat me, he hates me, I don't know why he even wants to marry me!"

"How can you say that!" Mary interjected, her face redder than Margaret's. "He is not the monster you think he is."

"Oh, do shut up!" Margaret snapped at her sister. "How can you possibly know him? You've never seen him the way I have, you've only seen him at dinner and balls, and other social events where he isn't drunk!"

"Why do you keep treating him like a monster?" Mary screamed, close to tears. "He's too good to be a monster!"

Margaret could not believe what she was hearing! How could her own sister defend such a man? "He's evil, he's cruel, he's manipulative and controlling and sadistic and plotting and mean and underhanded and -"

"I LOVE HIM!" Mary cried out, clamping a hand over her mouth only seconds later.

"How?" Margaret whispered, shaking her head, looking at her sister with such a wretched, pitiful look on her face.

Mary whimpered and burst into tears, running out of the house.

"Oh, darling!" Mother cried and ran after her, leaving only Father, Alexander, and Margaret in the house.

Margaret and Alexander looked up at Father, expecting him to go on screaming where Mother had left off.

Instead, he began laughing. Small chuckles at first, then snorting, then big, hearty guffaws. He ran his hand through his hair and shook him head, looking at the two teens. Margaret and Alexander stood there in shock.

"I should probably kick the tar out of you, Margaret." Father stated, a smile still on his face. "We gave you a good man, financially set and able to provide for you and your family. You would want for nothing, and be as close to a princess as could possibly exist here in the colonies. But instead, here you are, with…my apprentice. Like I said, I should kick the tar out of you. But I'm not going to, because I can't righteously punish you for this. Alexander here is a good man. I've worked with him for years, and there's no on I would trust more with my entire business…and my daughter. Your brother was an apprentice, and he found himself a good wife, even if your mother doesn't approve. So are you sure this is what you want Margaret? Are you sure this is what will make you happy?"

Without even a moment's pause, Margaret answered "Yes!"

Then Father turned to Alexander. "Boy, now obviously you just heard that I trust you and all, and rightfully so, you've proved yourself again and again over these past few years. But let me tell you this, you are being held to only the highest standards. You did not court my daughter, as is the usual way. You stole my daughter, you took her from a man that could have, and would have, given her everything. You, on the other hand, have neither a house nor a proper job. Now by some logic I don't quite understand, she still wants you. So I promise you that if you ever hurt her, physically or emotionally, I will kill you. Now after everything I've just told you, and meant every word, do you still want to marry my daughter?"

Without even a moment's pause, Alexander answered "Yes!"

Father smiled, and said "Well, do you want a big wedding?"

"No, no, no!" Margaret said quickly. "I just want to be married! Small wedding, just our friends and family."

Alexander agreed "Absolutely, and we have all the cakes and flowers here already, so why not do it as quickly as possible?"

"Well, that sounds like a novel idea if I've ever heard one!" Father agreed. "So we should do it before the food goes bad – how about tomorrow night?"

Margaret didn't mind the fact that this left her no time to plan the most important day of her life. She would have to tell only the closest friends, for no one else would make time for her on such short notice. The food and decorations would be nothing special, but they had a church, some cakes, their family and friends.

And most importantly, Margaret would _finally_ be marrying Alexander.

…

_Knock knock knock_

Iverson did not hear the three light taps against his front door, but he was unable to ignore the bell-ringing and door-banging that shortly followed. He threw on his robe and slippers and shuffled downstairs, half-awake and half-asleep.

"Who on earth could it be at this horrible – oh, hello Mary." Iverson said, looking down at the girl on his stoop.

"Oh, Mr. Iverson, please do quickly let me in!" Mary cried, tear streaming down her face.

"Oh darling, of course!" Iverson responded, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders and ushering her inside.

"Oh, Mr. Iverson, I have something just awful that I have to tell you." Mary sighed, her tears subsiding.

"What is it, my dear?" Iverson asked, faking genuine concern.

"Well, Alexander and Margaret are getting married, she doesn't even seem to care about your feelings!" Mary cried, leaning her head onto Iverson's shoulder.

"When are they getting married?" Iverson asked calmly.

"I-I don't know" Mary said hysterically.

The door opened again, and a tottering old man shuffled in. "Couldn't help but hear, sir. I do have that answer." Said Broomsby, the head of the servants in Iverson's home.

"Well get on with it!" Iverson barked.

"Well, sir, you see, sir, I was, um, out on a stroll. It's about eleven o clock at the time, and for the life of me I just can't seem to fall asleep! So I, uh, went on a s-s-stroll. I was passing by miss Charlotte's house, you know, the lovely young girl, who, um, yes. Her house. And miss Margaret was there as, um, well. She looked rather happy considering you two just broke, um, your engagement, erm, off, and well-"

"GET ON WITH IT!" Iverson roared.

"Yes! Well, she's marrying this apprentice fellow tomorrow night." Broomsby finished quickly.

"GET OUT!" Iverson called waving his arm to the side.

"Tomorrow night?" Mary squeaked.

"Mary, darling." Iverson smiled. "Up on my desk there are some square pieces of paper, they're party invitations. Can you grab them?"

"Of course!" Mary smiled, rushing upstairs.

She returned shortly, and Iverson sat her down and said "Now Mary, my darling, I need you to fill these out. Unfortunately, my party conflicts with your sister's wedding, but if you help me fill out the date and time, you're still welcome to come."

"Oh, of course!" Mary smiled, grabbing a nearby feather and inkwell, and writing the date in her best penmanship.

It was a bit rushed, but Iverson's plan was set in motion.


	21. Confesssions

**Thanks to everyone that stuck with this story, you all are great. 3 3 3 **

"Don't leave." Charlotte whispered, looking at Margaret.

"What's wrong?" Margaret asked softly, the excitement of her wedding having worn off.

Charlotte looked at a man who was slowly waddling away from them, as if he was trying to still listen in on their conversation. "Can you come inside?" she asked, stepping back from the doorframe.

"Of course!" Margaret said, picking up her gown and stepping in. "The dress you made me is lovely, Charlotte, by the way."

"Thank you." Charlotte said softly.

The two girls walked into the parlor and sat down on the loveseat.

"Margaret, I have something very bad to tell you."

"Charlotte," Margaret laughed nervously. "Can you just say it? You've making me quite nervous."

"Sorry." Charlotte sighed loudly and looked over at her best friend. "Margaret, I screwed up."

"Tell me everything." Margaret responded, the care in her voice practically melting her words.

"From the beginning?" Charlotte asked, pulling her legs up onto the couch and crossing them, an act so unladylike it would have been entirely inappropriate if she was in company of anyone but her best friend.

"The very beginning." Margaret smiled.

"Okay, here goes." Charlotte signed, tilted her head up, and began. "You know I have a bit of a temper, Margaret, and I'll be the first to admit it. So at the…ball last night, I got asked to dance by this man, Jon. I didn't like him or anything, he just asked and Ross wasn't dancing with me at the time, so I agreed. And he was really cute, and three years older than me, so I could see how Ross would get mad, but at the time I just got mad at him."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Margaret interrupted. "You're going too fast. What did Ross do to make you so mad?"

"Well I was dancing with Jon and he just cut in! Sent Jon away like a misbehaving child, and tried to tell me that I couldn't dance with him!" Charlotte said, the anger in her voice rising. "We weren't courting, I liked him, as you know, and we kissed, but he's not my suitor or my husband, and even if he was, I don't see why he'd get to tell me who I can and can't dance with!"

"So, that's pretty justified." Margaret shrugged, patting Charlotte's knee. "You may have snapped at him, but I think you're just getting yourself worked up. It will all be fine in the morning." Looking at the clock she added "which is now, I guess."

"I'm not done telling the story." Charlotte said quietly. "It gets worse."

"Oh, okay. Go on then." Margaret said softly.

Charlotte continued "Well, at that point I was just so bent on getting even with Ross, there really was no end to what I'd do. I'd probably light the entire ballroom on fire if I had thought it would make him suffer enough - that was the state I was in. It seems completely irrational, I know, but at the time I was. I don't like being restricted, you know that, and once my temper is lit I am too full of plotting to think of much else! So I go looking for Jon, and I catch the end of his conversation. It's about me – and he's on my side. He's standing there, attractive as ever, and defending me. I swear my heart stopped. I grabbed him, and we paraded by Ross, he just glared at us, and stood outside for what must have been seconds before I realized you were about to be proposed to by the most heinous man on the face of this planet. So we rushed back in, saw your brave refusal, and your escape."

At this point Margaret giggled, reminiscing of sprinting through the forest with Alexander. Charlotte paused for a moment and smiled as well, before she got to the downfall in her judgment.

"Okay, continue." Margaret said, smile still on her face.

"Well, we stood there for a moment, and while everyone else was gossiping about you and Alexander, we were talking about ourselves. We went back outside and sat down on some marble benches, talking about the future. Oh, Margaret, he said such wonderful things. Talked about love, marriage, beaches and snow, children and pets, holidays and family! I got so immersed in his words, I didn't realize they had no meaning."

"Did he lie to you?" Margaret said softly.

"I'm getting to that." Charlotte gave a curt nod and continued. "So, after a while, I got cold. The dress I wore was no match for the early spring weather that we have. Still bitterly cold. So to warm me up, Jon went and got me some wine. Somehow, that only made me colder. So he got me more, and more, and more. Now I've never drunk before Margaret, at least, not more than a toast glass in Christmastide, but I knew that I was but one glass away from being drunk. So I told him to stop bringing me wine, and take me home before I did something stupid."

"Well that was a good choice, Charlotte!" Margaret smiled. "I always knew you had some sense, deep, deep down." Jokingly poking fun at her friend's impulsiveness.

Charlotte smiled without humor. "Well, we had very different interpretations of "take me home", it seems. He took me to his house."

"Oh, Charlotte!" Margaret cried. "No!"

"Yes." Charlotte said. "And when I woke up I-I-I realized he was _married_!" she then broke down in heavy sobs, and leaned on her best friends shoulder, staining her gown with tears.

"Oh, honey, there's no way you could have known….it's his fault, not yours…" Margaret murmured comfortingly, wrapping her arms around her friend, as Charlotte sobbed harder and harder.

"But I don't care about that! If it was an isolated event, I'd be embarrassed, but it wouldn't matter!" Charlotte wailed.

"Then why are you so upset?" Margaret asked out of pure confusion.

"Because-because of my stupid, stupid, temper!"

"Yes?" Margaret pressed.

"I lost Ross!" Charlotte continued sobbing, the only words audible for the next fifteen minutes were "and I really do love him!"

…

Mary was upset. She had had enough drama for one night – for a lifetime. What she would give for some stability, a little organization!

She knew what she wanted, but sometimes distractions prevailed, and she got sidetracked. At last night's engagement ball, she knew more than anything that she wanted to marry Mr. Iverson. She wanted to have all the power and prestige that came with being the wife of such a rich and powerful man. If she was showered with gifts for simply being the sister of his fiancé, imagine how doted upon she would be once she was his fiancé!

Originally, all she wanted was to have him in the family. To have finantially stability, as well as whatever dress or shoe she could ever desire. So she worked hard, trying her very best to persuade the dense and stubborn Margaret to marry the man, and welcome him the way he deserved. But she refused! She only had eyes for that stupid apprentice, a fling based only on attraction, as opposed to similar values such as that of her engagement. Well, original engagement. She was furious when Margaret ran out with Alexander, and she still is seething, even sitting at home, in her bed. But those feeling of rage and betrayal are somewhat put off, as Mary began to fully grasp what possibilies lie ahead.

No longer will she have to try and convince a match with a man unlike her, simply for her family's sake. There will be no more "Daniel"s in which to try and woo: her perfect man is available! When Mr. Iverson was so rudely rejected, he was left in want of a wife, but the one he originally picked was, clearly, unavailable. So obviously Mr. Iverson approved of Mary's family, and felt it good enough to marry into. So that was already taken care of. If she went to tomorrow night's party, and played her cards right, Mary could soon be Mrs. Mary Iverson!

Just the thought gave her chills! Fine gowns and caps, new shoes on random occasions, the duchesses and countesses over in Europe taking fashion influence from her! Oh, just the thought! The power, the wealth, the glamor that would surely come from the life only Mr. Iverson could give her!

She had done what she had had to – party invitations were filled out and left in the post-boxes of everyone within the town. She came back to tell Mr. Iverson the news, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek! A KISS! She squealed remembering it, and just couldn't hold her excitement until tomorrow night – the happiest day of her life!


	22. Trapped

**Y'all still rock. Bestest ever.**

People were shocked, naturally, to receive a party invitation and a wedding invitation the day of. But those who were invited to Alexander and Margaret's wedding were very close friends or family, and felt the need to make time for them. As for the party invitation, people were split between amazement that he would want to be around people after losing his engagement, and understanding that a party would be just the thing to get his mind off the topic. So all in all, about forty-five people agreed to come.

And, of course, such a large party would require a lot of supplies. Iverson walked down to the General Store with the intent to place an order for every drink, foodstuff, and decoration the store held.

"What can I get you, sir?" The shopkeeper asked, smiling and wiping down the counter.

"I am going to need every parcel of dried fruit that you have." Iverson stated, buttoning his jacket over his pooch of a belly.

"Of course!" the shopkeeper said, smiling. "I got the invitation for your party, can I assume it's for that?"

"Yes, yes!" Iverson smiled, resting a hand on his skinny hip. "Are you going to be in attendance?"

The shopkeeper swallowed and smiled nervously. "No, I also received an invitation for Margaret and Alexander's wedding, which is tonight. Alexander is my apprentice, so I felt I had an obligation" he continued smiling, worried that statement would lose him business.

"Oh, I understand, of course!" Iverson chortled, a reaction you would not expect from a man who had lost his fiancé only hours earlier. "But my order is still larger than some dried fruit!"

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows and smiled wider, pulling out a piece of paper and an inkwell to write down the orders.

"I'm going to need thirty feet of wallpaper, it's going to be cut and hung from the doorways. I'm going to need any flowers you can find me – this is spring after all. Now, I'll also need three pounds of tea, and four bottles of whiskey. Six bottles of wine. Ten pounds of beef, and six pounds of chicken. Four pounds of mixed nuts. And I am going to need all of this packaged and delivered to my house in three hours."

"Three hours!" The shopkeeper exclaimed. "But it's already one 'o' clock in the afternoon, and the wedding is in three hours, so I'd have to have it delivered in two hours to account for travel and-"

"I am giving you a considerable amount of income." Iverson said sternly, throwing a silk bag of money onto the counter. "I don't expect objections, just have it there before four 'o' clock."

The shopkeeper nodded and pocketed the money, reading over the list again.

Smiling, Iverson turned around and walked out of the shop, laughing to himself.

…

"Alexander, son, I'm here to ask you a huge favor." The shopkeeper stood at the man's door, holding his hat in his hands.

"Of course, sir, anything!" Alexander smiled, stepping back to let his master in.

"I know it's your wedding day, and I can't wait to see you marry that girl, but I need you to come work."

"What."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't need your help urgently, but I have so much work to do, a HUGE order just came in, and it has to be done in about an hour and a half. If you can't help me, there is no way I can get it done, and I will lose the biggest order of my career!" The shopkeeper pleaded, leaning forward on his toes. "Please son, I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need your help."

Alexander sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked down at the floor. "I don't know, sir. It's my wedding day and I don't think I can do that."

"Please, son! I can't stay long to persuade you, and need this money! Business has been bad lately, I don't know why, and that doesn't change the fact that I have five children who still want to eat!" The shopkeeper sniffed pitifully and Alexander rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine, don't sing me a sob story." Alexander laughed, jokingly pushing the shopkeeper's shoulder.

He put on his jacket and the two headed over to the general shop to pack the obscenely large order.

…

The hour had passed quickly as Alexander and the shopkeeper packed the order as quickly as possible, and loaded it into a cart, packed into four different boxes

"Here" Alexander said, pulling the cart behind him. "I'll take the cart over to the house – what's the address?"

"Absolutely not!" the shopkeeper said, taking the cart handle away from Alexander. "I have imposed on you far too much today! If you'd put a box on the counter back in the storeroom, and lock up the shop, you can head straight home and get ready! After I make the delivery, I'll do the same!"

Alexander smiled and took the shop key, clapping the old man on the back. He walked inside and grabbed a box of china off the floor, taking it back into the storeroom. The shopkeeper had a very intricate organization system, and Alexander had to pause for a moment to think where to put it. Eventually, he decided that the far left side of the third shelf would be best, for dishes were more like pots that like silverware, right?

Ah well, it was time for him to go get married! He turned around, just in time to see the door click shut. A heavy thud and a clank later, Alexander knew he had been locked in.

…

Margaret was in a trance.

She looked at herself, it a slightly dusty, antique silver mirror. She looked at herself as Charlotte twisted her hair up into some sort of curled bun. She looked as face-framing pieces were wrapped in rags, and flowers were embedded in her blond hair. She looked at her sad excuse for a wedding dress. Due to the rushed ceremony, she had to only wear her best Sunday dress, which was made of a slightly worn sea foam green fabric, small white roses framing the wrist and neckline, with white lace wrapped around her shoulders. Normally her bare shoulders would be covered with a shall, but her wedding didn't seem like it had as much of a need for propriety.

"You look stunning" Charlotte whispered, waking Margaret from her dreamlike state.

"What? Oh, yes, thank you Charlotte." Margaret smiled, admiring how her lips were such a deep red for the occasion.

"What's wrong? You're not getting cold feet, are you?" Charlotte laughed, knowing that Margaret was not exactly the type.

"No, no, of course not. I just…."Margaret sighed and continued "I just feel like something bad is going to happen."

"Well, let me tell you what to do." Charlotte smiled. "If you trip, or if your tongue slips, laugh. If he messes up, laugh. If the food doesn't taste good or if your shoe gets a hole, just laugh. You two are meant for each other, and while I'm sure nothing will go wrong, just know that you shouldn't let a sour mood make something wrong."

"You're right, Charlotte." Margaret smiled, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

Charlotte flipped her curls back and retorted "as always!"

"Speaking of love, have you made up with Ross?" Margaret grabbed Charlotte's hand and swung it back and forth.

"Well, I saw him in town today and smiled at him." Charlotte mentioned.

"And?" Margaret dragged the word out, smiling.

"…he looked away."

"Oh." Margaret bit her lip, not knowing what to say.

"But enough of that nonsense!" Charlotte dismissively waved her hand, getting a bottle of perfume for Margaret. "In half an hour, you're getting married!"

Mary knocked on the door, and let herself in. "I have a letter for you, I just fetched it out of the postbox." She spoke quietly, knowing of Margret and the Davidson family's anger with her for skipping the wedding.

Margaret took the letter without saying anything, and closed the door in her sister's face.

"Who's it from?" Charlotte said, reading over Margaret's shoulder.

_**Dearest Margaret,**_

_**I love you, I want to state that first off. But I can't marry you, and I cannot bear to tell you that face-to-face. I haven't known you very long, and was okay with the idea of marriage until it became a reality. I can't be tied down this early in my life. I want to make it very, very clear that I don't want you to wait for me to be read, because I promise you, I'll never be ready to marry you. I love you, yes, just not enough.**_

_**I'm sorry,**_

_**Alexander**_


	23. The End

**Well, it's the end of the road for our fine characters. By the end of this chapter, one character will find their most risky decision to be their best, one secret will be revealed, one girl will give up her stubbornness, and one character will die. Thanks to everyone that stuck to the story (even when I didn't) and enjoy the next 4600 words, because they're the last 3**

"Oh Margaret, I'm so sorry." Charlotte whispered, reaching out to touch her friend.

"I don't want to talk about it!" Margaret cried, running out of the room.

Charlotte hesitated for a moment, knowing that being around people would be the last thing that Margaret would want right now. Somehow, she had to fix this. And the first plan that came to her mind was to kill Alexander. So she took off her heeled shoes and borrowed Margaret's everyday ones, running down the stairs and out into the street.

First, she checked the most obvious place, Alexander's house. It was unlocked and completely empty. _I hope he was kidnapped _Charlotte thought angrily, tromping upstairs. She checked in every room, the only sign that Alexander had even been in the house recently was the clean breeches and jacket laid out on his bed. Charlotte rolled her eyes and slammed his bedroom door shut. How dare he?

Charlotte then walked to the bar, where a miserable bastard such as Alexander should be drowning his regret. Giving up Margaret would be the greatest mistake he would ever make, and being beat up by Charlotte would be his greatest embarrassment. Justice was sweet as both sentences would be served in the same day.

She pushed open the door and sheets of heavy smoke rolled out, clogging her throat. The stench of misery and rum filled the air, pooling at her feet. She scrunched her nose and ignored the wolf whistles that accompanied her arrival, scanning the room for Alexander.

For whatever reason, he wasn't there. He couldn't be out celebrating! If he was, though, he'd regret it soon enough. Where on earth could he be? The sun was beginning to set, for while it was spring, it was still early May, and there were no long summer nights yet. Charlotte scanned the town square around her, looking at the small shops and houses, wondering where on earth Alexander could be! She didn't know of his friends (If he had any. Humph.), so she didn't know which houses to check. And it seemed rather awkward to knock on doors and say "oh hello there, I was wondering if you're friends with a man named Alexander Cotey, because I'd love to know where he is right now."

There's no way that would work.

So Charlotte checked what she deemed to be the last possible place: the general store that Alexander worked at. It was a slim chance, for he was given the day off – for the wedding he ditched. She pushed open the door, and looked to see nothing. She sighed heavily and turned to leave, when she heard a cry.

"Hello? Hello! Is someone there?"

Charlotte turned towards the sound of the cry and ran to the storeroom. "Is someone in there?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me, Alexander!" a panicked voice replied.

Charlotte's demeanor darkened and she leaned against the door. "Oh. Why are you in here?"

"Someone locked me in here!" Alexander said, banging a fist against the door. "Now let me out!"

"Or not." Charlotte replied smugly. "It'd serve you right."

"What did I do?" Alexander said, anxiety filling his voice. "Please, who is out there?"

"Charlotte." She stated, admiring her nails and smiling at her clear advantage in the situation.

"Charlotte! Charlotte you have to let me out of here!" Alexander said, sighing with relief. They were friends, she had to let him out!

"No, I don't have to let you out, actually." Charlotte stated. "In fact, if I wanted to, I could leave."

"No, Charlotte, don't! Please, I don't know what I've done to make you hate me, but I really need to get to my wedding! What time is it? Do I even have time to change? I swear it's been hours!" Alexander pleaded

"Yes, it has been hours! Your wedding should have already taken place, but don't pretend like you didn't know that! That letter you wrote Margaret was awful, and you don't deserve to be let out! I don't know how you got yourself in this situation, but I hope you have to stay in there forever – you'd deserve it!" Charlotte screamed at Alexander, slamming her fist against the door in hopes his head would be pressed up against it.

"Charlotte, I don't understand! What note? I never meant to miss my own wedding!" Alexander quickly stuttered, hoping she hadn't left yet.

"What do you mean "what note"? you wrote her a note telling her that you don't love her and could never marry her!"

"No! NEVER! How could she believe that?" Alexander said hastily.

"Because you signed it!" Charlotte snapped, pounding the door again.

"I would never write that! But think, Charlotte. Who would want to see the destruction of my marriage?" Alexander leaned the door, posing the question.

"Iverson!" Charlotte yelled loudly, the thought only now occurring to her.

"Exactly! I promise you, I would never intentionally do something to harm Margaret! And if I ever accidently hurt her, I would spend the rest of my life making it up to her, I swear!" Alexander pleaded.

"I believe you." Charlotte whispered. "And I'll let you out." She yanked on the door handle, but noticed it was locked. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, alternating pulling and pushing the door. "It's locked!"

"I know!" Alexander said with annoyance. "That's why I'm STUCK in here!"

"Do not snap at me!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Or I'll keep you in! You're walking on thin ice, Mr. Cotey!"

"Yes, yes, my apologies." Alexander mumbled. "But my key has been stolen from me, I suspect Iverson took it after the engagement ball, or else I would slip it under the door to you. I need you to find another key!"

"Another key?" Charlotte nervously ran a hand through her hair. "Where on earth can I find another key? Where would it be in the shop? Would the shopkeeper have one?"

"Well my master would have one, naturally, but I don't know where he is right now, so I guess that's generally useless information. If one is in the shop, and I don't know if it is, then it would be under the counter – in the small drawer with all the papers."

"Gotcha!" Charlotte said quickly, walking over to the counter and rifling through the papers. She looked at the bottom, then rifled through all of them. "It's not in here!" she said, panic filling her voice. "Could it be anywhere else?"

"Not that I can think of!" Alexander said nervously, ramming up against te door as if it would give into pressure.

"I know what to do!" Charlotte cried. "I'll be back, I promise!"

With that, she ran out of the shop and down the street to the blacksmith's, nervous as all else. She pushed her way into the shop, covered in faux confidence.

"Ross?" she cried out, partially hoping he would be her and partially hoping that he wouldn't.

"Yes? Who is there?"

Damn.

"Ross!" Charlotte cried, running to the fire where he did all of his work. Her heart sunk as she noticed the general distaste he seemed to have as she came into view. "Listen, I really need your help right now.

"What do you need?" he asked darkly. It was clear that he was still furious with her, and rightfully so.

"I need you to help me free Alexander. He's gotten himself locked in a storeroom, with no key to be found. And worse, his marriage to Margaret is ruined – the longer he's gone the worse it gets!" Charlotte reasoned.

"I'm surprised you even looked at me again." Ross said softly.

"Oh Ross, we'll talk about ourselves later! Right now I need your help! Alexander and Margaret need your help!" Charlotte pleaded, walking over to him and grabbing his arm.

Ross looked down his arm and sighed. "Fine. I'll help you out." He grabbed a handful of tools and followed Charlotte out of the shop, copying her quick pace.

It was easy for Ross to let Alexander out: the door had a simple lock with two tumblers, and was easily split. Alexander rushed out of the room, quickly and profusely thanked Ross and Margaret, and then sprinted out of the shop and down the street.

…

Margaret took another sip of her wine – her third glass so far. She curled up in a plush armchair in front of her bedroom fire, staring into the crackling flames and ignoring her hovering mother. She huffed and wiped tears away on her lace sleeve.

"Oh dear, you're crying again. I don't suppose it matters, you're eye makeup is ruined." Mother sighed, leaning on the chair and pressing her bony index fingers together.

"I'm not crying." Margaret said softly and weakly. "My eyes were watering from staring into the flames for so long."

"Yes of course. Denial." Mother rolled her eyes. "This wouldn't have happened if you married Mr. Iverson."

"LEAVE!" Margaret roared, pointing her finger at the door.

Mother innocently put both her arms up, palms out, and walked out of the room.

Margaret looked down at her wine and sighed, tossing the remains of the glass into the fire, smiling as it turned a deep blue and the flames rose. A puff of smoke sputtered out at her, making her eyes water and clogging her throat. Great, that was the second thing to blow up in her face today.

…

For one planned on such short notice, Iverson's party was quite a smashing success! All the forty-five people that had RSVP'd showed up, and most commented on the exquisite food and colorful decorations. People seemed to feel that Iverson was rather happy, despite just l"osing his engagement. Not that that was the focus of the night, for too many people were enjoying the fine dining and dancing!

Mary, however, hardly noticed all the other guests, for she was focused entirely on Iverson. He danced with no other women, and made small talk with a few of them. Of course, most, if not all, of the women were married, but Mary still took it as a sign that Iverson was in love with her and could not bear the thought of dancing with someone else.

Now, if one is to truly understand Mary, one must understand how important propriety was to her. Whatever social rule there may be, no matter how ridiculous, she followed it. The rule she followed the most religiously was that of not being forward in any manner. She never greeted a man of her age unless she had just been introduced to him, and would turn down any suitor (if any had come after her) at least once before agreeing to any level of courtship, no matter how smitten she (hypothetically) might be. These rules were taught to her at a young age by her mother, and Mary had followed them religiously.

So that's why it was so strange when Mary got an overwhelming urge to approach Iverson. He had not spoken to her all night, and normally Mary would reciprocate the favor, but she was bursting with passion and wanted so desperately to tell him how much she wanted to marry him, before some gold-digging woman got to him.

For the first few hours of the party, she controlled herself. She kept to herself, and made conversation with some of the other, older women in the room, sneaking quick looks at Iverson in hopes he would approach her with amorous intentions.

He didn't.

So as nine 'o' clock neared, Mary could scarcely take it any longer! She picked up her skirts and walked briskly across the room, her tongue in her throat and her heart pounding harder with each and every step.

As she reached Iverson, she cleared her throat and tapped his arm lightly. "May I speak to you…privately?"

Iverson looked a bit befuddled for why the young child would want to talk to him, but he agreed and followed Mary outside.

"Mr. Iverson, I have something very important to tell you. More than anything, I need you to take me seriously, for what I am about to say I mean with all my heart." To emphasize her point, Mary laid a hand on her heat.

Not knowing what to say, Iverson merely nodded, staring down at Mary.

"I understand you must be very upset, losing you engagement and all…"

Iverson looked down and the ground and clenched his fists.

"But I feel that before you get too attached to anyone else, you should know that I want to become your wife."

Iverson looked up quickly, and his mouth dropped open.

"You obviously approve of my family, so that should not be a problem, and my dowry would be the same as Margaret's. The only difference between her and I is that I am more proper, refined, polite, and generally more fitting to be your wife." Not knowing how to end her confession, Mary merely smiled at Iverson, and waited for his approval.

Awkward silence swirled about them, and Iverson then put his hands on his hips, tipped his head back, and laughed.

Chuckled.

Guffawed.

Giggled.

Snickered.

Sniggered.

Hooted.

Howled.

Rejected.

He clapped Mary on the shoulder and walked back into the party, still shaking his head as he disappeared into the groups of people.

…

"MARGARET!"

Margaret whipped her head around at the sound of her name, the most movement she had done in hours, due to her rejection-induced trance. She saw it was Alexander at her door and turned her head back around, holding back tears. Now wasn't the time to cry.

"Margaret, I know you must hate me right now, but I can explain everything!" Alexander rushed to her side and kneeled by her, just trying to make eye contact with her.

"Oh, you can explain writing me a note saying that you'll never be able to marry me, because you don't love me enough? You can explain how you couldn't tell me how you felt to my face, and chose to instead write me a cowardly letter and hide like a scared child? You can _explain_ how you allowed me to send out invitations to a wedding you had no intention of intending? Because I'd just love to hear that!" A sob burst through Margaret's throat, but she still held back tears, buying her head in her hands.

"Margaret, I never wrote you the note! If I had to bet money on who did, I'd say it was Iverson!"

"Right!" Margaret said sarcastically. "So he just knew all of my biggest fears and wrote them down. He's hosting a party today! He didn't even try and beat you up after you stole me away!"

"Well, c'mon. There's no way he could beat me up." Alexander laughed, and flexed his bicep.

"This is no time for your ego!" Margaret slapped Alex's arm and buried her head into her knees.

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." Alexander said, lightly laying a hand on her arm. "As for missing the wedding, I was locked in the storeroom. Again, I'd bed money on Iverson's doings."

Margaret looked up at her fiancé and sighed "To anyone else in this world, that would be the craziest, worst excuse on this planet. But, somehow, I believe you."

"Oh Margaret!" Alexander grabbed her face and kissed her. "I was so worried!"

"You should have been. Don't ever do something like this again." Margaret said sternly.

"I never would have done it this time, but fate had a different plan." Alexander kissed her again and said "Now, when can we get married?"

"Not here." Margaret said firmly.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" Alexander wondered, standing up and pulling his fiancé up with him.

"I mean that any wedding we might try to throw here, spontaneous or planned, Iverson will interrupt it to some degree. As long as he wishes to cause me pain, he'll find a way…" Margaret trailed off and looked down.

"So where do we get married, then? Because I want to be married as soon as possible. I can't image my life without you." Alexander hugged Margaret tightly and listened as Margaret whispered,

"Well, I do have one idea…"

…

It was a perfect plan, really. Within a few days Alexander, Margaret, Charlotte, Ross, and family had loaded wagons up and travelled up to Felicity and Ben's. Far enough away and unknown by Iverson, there was nothing but the best plans for the wedding, and the unanimous expectation for it to run smoothly.

For her behavior, though not without much coaxing, Mother apologized to Felicity for her behavior.

"I'm sorry." Mother kept her apology simple, though it was obvious to anyone that she meant it.

Felicity wanted to keep peace in the family more than anything, and wanted Ben to be able to talk and visit his sisters without there being more tension that pleasantry. So she accepted Mrs. Davidson's apology.

The next thing out of Mother's mouth was "Can I see my grandchild?"

Felicity laughed and led her up two flights of stairs before turning around and smiling, saying "oh, I think you meant _grandchildren_."

…

Mary had refused to come to the wedding, still sulking at home. But Margaret and Alexander didn't exactly want her there, so there was no more than the standard necessary objection raised.

Mary sat in front of the living room fireplace, her nightdress and robe pooling around her as she crossed her legs and learned forward, sniffling. She picked a flower out of a vase and picked petals off of it, throwing them into the flower.

Eventually, she had had enough self-pity. She needed a husband, and the only way she was going to get one was by heading out and finding one. So she put on her cloak to hold onto whatever small shreds of propriety she had left, and headed out into the night.

She reached the tavern in only a few minutes, determination in her step. She pushed open the door, and smoke poured out, the smell stifled only by the stench of self-pity that accompanied most taverns at this hour.

She was met with wolf whistles, and smiled at the attention she was receiving, taking the hood of her cloak down and allowing her short hair to fall out over her shoulders.

"Would anyone here like to marry me?" she called out. A stupid plan, it seemed, who would truly marry a man she had met only seconds before?

But when a woman is as desperate as Mary was, who had no faith in herself but endless in others, is willing to do a lot of crazy things to be saved.

The bar drowned in its own silence, dozens of eyes focusing on the pretty young girl asking for a husband.

"Yeah, I will. I don't see why not?" A man stood up, seeming relatively young, though the bags under his eyes and the stubble aged him terribly. He was still capable of fixing his life, but chose to instead let it fall by the wayside. A slacker.

He downed the rest of his pint and walked up to look into the eyes of his future bride.

Mary stood calm in her resolve, even though her mind wavered, wondering if her decision was too rash. But, like a gentleman, the man offered her his arm and the two walked out of the bar, with the plans to wed, despite the fact that a collective total of twelve words had been spoken between them.

…

Iverson sat in his armchair, looking out the window into the dark, bitter night. He took another swing of whiskey – his eight glass so far tonight.

At his party, surrounded by people, he was alone. At home by himself, he was miserable. All he wanted in his life was the perfect wife – but she was off marrying a storekeeper. No matter what he did, no matter how rich or prominent he was, he still could not have the life he wanted. Oh, how he would have given his fortunes to have Margaret by his side!

He would have made her life heaven. She would want for nothing, and would never have to sew her own dresses or cook his meals. He would staff the home to the teeth, just to make sure that she would be happy in his home.

And he loved her so much. She was beautiful, of course, but that's not all that made her a worthwhile girl. She had this aura of sarcasm and wit that hung around her, making her interesting and so much deeper than every other proper girl around town, all of which felt they were more suiting wives, but none understanding that a proper, stuffy wife was the last thing that Iverson wanted.

Every day would be a new opportunity for Iverson to prove his life to Margaret. Some days, he would buy her little gifts to show her how he had been thinking of her while in town. Some days, he would take her to his other houses in different towns, so he could spend time with her, and make sure that she knew she wouldn't be just a trophy wife to him. But some days he would just tell her. Wake up one morning and just say "I love you".

But, for some reason, she couldn't see that.

Iverson took another swing of whiskey and then threw the glass against the wall, smiling as it shattered.

…

That night, there was calmness in the air, and everyone slept well.

Charlotte had written a letter to Ross, accepting blame and confessing everything. When she got home, she would find out whether or not he had loved her enough to take her back. She fretted for a few hours, but looking at how Margaret and Alexander still loved each other despite everything they've been through, she felt confident that she and Ross were no different. But she wished on a star…just in case.

Mother and Father slept well, glad that Mother and not only apologized to Felicity, but that her apology had been met with so little drama or scorn. Felicity was truly an amazing woman to be so forgiving, and for one, Mother did not thing that Ben deserved such a girl. Not that she minded that he had her.

Felicity slept well with Ben, the love of her life, right by her side. She rested a head on her stomach, unaware that she was also calming her third and fourth child….twins.

Mary slept soundly, will such firm resolve in the most forward and impulsive decision she had ever made in her entire life. She laid one hand on her chest and one on the stomach of her future husband, who's name she had not even learned. Maybe what she was doing was stupid, but Mary enjoyed being stupid sometimes.

Margaret slept soundly, knowing that her love for Alexander was strong enough to withstand anything fate could throw at them. Through Iverson's meddling, that terrible letter, and a failed wedding, she still managed to love him unconditionally, though it did not always mean she could not be angry at him. She knew that he would never hurt her, and that's why she knew that they would be together forever. Their wedding may not be as soon as she wanted, or the elaborate affair she had imagined as a girl, but as long it was to the man who loved her, then it would be a dream wedding to her.

Alexander slept with Margaret in his arms, smiling knowing that she trusted him enough in order to believe such a story as wild as the truth was. He woke up once during the night, only to consider the future if Margaret ever found out the truth and knew that he had in fact sent the letter to break up with her. But the relief that had come with sending the letter had imploded upon seeing her pain. He could not bear to cause Margaret any level of pain, so he knew that he truly loved her. The thoughts were enough to calm him down and allow him to fall back asleep.

Iverson sat in his desk for a while before he went to bed, holding the letter he had written a few days ago. It was sealed in an envelope, and had Margaret's name scrawled on the front in his elegant script.

It was his plan B, if his plan to push off the wedding didn't cause Margaret to take a step back from her whirlwind romance and take a second look at him, then he would have given her this letter. But it didn't work. By the time Iverson realized his plan hadn't worked, it was too late. Margaret had packed up and left with that unappreciative, unloving, _unworthy_ man, and who knows if she'd even come back!

Iverson slit open the letter and read it aloud, tears running down his face as he realized how hopeless his situation currently, and always, was.

**Dearest Margaret,**

**I love you, I want to state that first off. And I want to be with you forever. I've never been good with words, and I'd like to think that's why you don't love me. Somehow, someway, there must be this disconnect that makes you think worse of me than I am. But all terrible qualities of mine, and I'll be the first to admit that they're there, can you not look past all them to see my love for you? I'm not asking you to end your relationship with the apprentice yet, but I am asking you to at least give me a fighting chance.**

**Love,**

Iverson felt anger swirl up in him and his eyes filled with tears. He grabbed a nearby bottle of brandy (oh, he seemed to have alcohol in every room) and took a swing straight from the bottle, ignoring the nearby glasses.

The alcohol gave him power and he felt the need to destroy. He smashed the brandy bottle against the floor, and crumpled the letter, throwing it into the ashes of a dead fire. He stumbled down the staircases, falling and crumpling and the bottom. He dusted himself off and proceeded throughout his manor, ripping curtains off of windows and throwing knick-knacks off shelves. Every time he came to an alcohol bottle, he would take several large swings and stumble into the next room, wreaking more havoc.

When he was done venting his anger, he stumbled back upstairs and fell into what looked to be a peaceful sleep. As he dozed, he slipped.

And as the clock struck midnight on the day of Margaret's wedding, Iverson died, peacefully in his sleep.

Doctors knew little of what killed Iverson, though there are only two still-standing theories. One, that he died of alcohol poisoning.

Two, that he died of a broken heart.


End file.
